Stitching Hearts
by Mandelene
Summary: Dr. Arthur Kirkland normally took pride in his secluded lifestyle. After all, friendships and family ties were mere burdens that could only be expected to drag down his work ethic. So what happens when two stray boys wander into his hospital? Well, it's certainly an uncommon adventure that he's in for, and perhaps his patients aren't the only ones who require fixing.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: This is just something that I've been thinking about trying for a while now. Hospital scenarios are pretty easy for me to write considering that I come from a family of people in the medical field (you can imagine how disappointed they were once they realized that I didn't plan on following in their footsteps). xD I doubt this story will be more than a maximum of three chapters unless there is a high demand for it. It's been a while since I've written something brief. Anyway, please review, favorite, follow, and most importantly, enjoy! :D**

* * *

Christmas was always the busiest time of the season at the hospital, especially in the emergency room, where countless bodies poured in, each suffering from a range of illnesses that ranged from mild cases of strep throat to severed fingers resulting from incompetently carving the Christmas turkey.

Honestly, it was a wonder that Americans even managed to function on a day-to-day basis.

At any rate, it was a living nightmare for most doctors, who would battle for a single day's break from the 'Christmas cheer' at work to spend time with their families. However, such was not the case with Dr. Arthur Kirkland. He had nary a family member to race home to, no parties to host or a bountiful dinner to prepare; in short, he was completely free to stitch up swollen fingers all day while stockpiling those precious hours of overtime that brought in wonderful sums of money. He had no reason to complain, for his Christmas was simply another day spent in usual solitude along with a beloved bottle of wine.

During today's shift, he had managed to scrape himself a short lunch break, returning only to be bombarded by a set of weary nurses who continuously voiced their complaints regarding how understaffed the emergency room was. They shuffled to and fro, delivering medications and equipment as hastily as they could manage while staying sane.

He didn't usually work down in the ER, but his position had been temporarily changed from working in the Adult Intensive Care Unit due to the shortage of doctors working on the floor. He assumed he'd be stuck with this new role for at least another day or two, depending on how long it would take for the chaos to clear itself up.

Quite frankly, it wasn't until another nurse ran up to him and brought up the fact that there was some sort of commotion going on outside of the emergency room's entrance that he realized that he was in for another long night.

"Dr. Kirkland, it's an issue with a pair of children," the woman told him exasperatedly, eyes pleading with him to go and resolve the situation without further debate.

Arthur frowned, finishing the rest of the tea he had purchased from the corner-store during his break and tossing away the Styrofoam cup into the nearby garbage bin. "I don't treat pediatrics, that's Antonio's job. He's the temporary pediatrician on shift."

"Dr. Carriedo has his hands full with another patient in critical condition, and the situation is apparently urgent. The children cannot wait."

Sighing heavily, Arthur nodded numbly and decided to accept the challenge even though he was terrible with children. Nonetheless, he couldn't stand idly by if help was needed immediately. It wasn't as if he wasn't educated on the different treatment methods—in medical school, it was necessary to know how to treat any type of patient—it was just a bit unnerving at times due to the lack of exposure.

He had barely turned the corner to the entrance lobby when he heard fervent shrieks and shouting bringing him to attention. He was soon met with the sight of two little boys fighting with a pair of security guards who were making futile attempts at calming them down.

"NO! LET ME GO!"

Well, in actuality, one of the boys was fighting and lashing out at both of the guards, while the other stood slightly off to the side, tears running down his pink face as he sobbed, breath seemingly getting caught in his throat and refusing to be accepted by his lungs.

Arthur scowled, his white coat rippling behind him as he approached the boy that was crying. "What the bloody hell is going on here?"

Finally managing to restrain the flailing boy by snatching him up by the waist, the flustered security guard spoke roughly, enduring the twinges of pain that coursed through him as the child kicked at his chest restlessly. "We found these kids down the block," he began slowly before pointing to the boy that Arthur was standing next to. "Something's wrong with that one—he's breathing all funny and his parents were nowhere to be found, so we brought them in."

"PUT ME DOWN! DON'T TOUCH MATTIE!" the boy that was entangled in the security guard's arms cried out, making a weak attempt at biting his captor.

_There was a reason he avoided children like the plague; he just couldn't stand the tantrums. _

"Calm down, no one is here to harm either of you," Arthur spoke firmly, glaring at the screaming boy. He had striking blue eyes and an unruly cowlick perched atop his dark-blond mop of hair.

Kneeling down next to the timid boy that was still trying to suck in a gulp of air, Arthur removed his stethoscope from its resting spot around his neck and placed the buds in his ears, cautiously beckoning the little boy closer.

"What is your name?" he asked the child, hoping the distraction of a conversation would give him a chance to examine the boy properly.

Hugging a shabby stuffed bear in one arm, the boy mumbled through a hiccup, "M-Matthew."

Trying to muster his best bedside manner for the sake of keeping control of the situation, Arthur smiled forcibly, looking rather uncomfortable as he berated himself for his lack of consolation. "Right, then, I'm Dr. Arthur Kirkland. Would you let me have a quick listen to your lungs?"

The temper-tantrum prone child opposite him tossed in his two-cents into the conversation, causing Arthur's blood to boil. "Don't let him touch you, Mattie! Doctors aren't safe! Don't trust him!"

"Excuse me," Arthur said coldly, casting the blue eyes a sharp look. "Matthew does not require an attorney at the moment to speak on his behalf."

Exhausted from all of his thrashing, the badly behaved child dangled limply in the security guard's clutches, looking defeated and forlorn as he watched his companion warily.

Finally responding, Matthew offered the doctor a grim look. "Will I f-feel better?"

"Yes," Arthur promised, stern yet calm. "I will do everything in my power to help you—it's my job after all."

Matthew bit his lip and finally conceded, taking a step closer to Arthur's figure and glancing nervously at his subdued accomplice opposite him. "Okay."

Arthur instantly went to work, gently pulling up the child's snow-sodden sweater and undershirt before placing the business end of the stethoscope against the boy's chest. Every few seconds he would adjust the diaphragm to a different spot, ultimately moving on to the boy's back to listen to his lungs from behind. Eventually, he released the boy, slightly relieved with the outcome of the examination.

"It's a textbook case of an asthma attack that has gone untreated for quite some time," Arthur announced, more for his own benefit than anyone else's. "You're going to be just fine with the proper medications, Matthew. Now, I must ask, where are your parents?"

The boy wavered slightly, shying away from Arthur's gaze as he continued to breathe in heavy, high-pitched wheezes. "Gone," he finally whispered, no longer crying.

Arthur let the information sink in for a moment before nodding and standing up to his full height, wrapping his stethoscope about his neck again. "All right, it looks like we're going to treat you without any formal consent then, seeing as we have no other choice other than simply sending you back out onto the streets while you're unwell. Let's find you an empty bed, which I imagine will be difficult in and of itself."

"I'm not going without Alfred," Matthew chimed, pressing his face into the dusty fur of his stuffed polar bear.

Arthur stood still once more, one hand on his hip as he raised a bushy eyebrow at the child still in the hold of the hospital's security. "I assume this is Alfred? Who by the looks of it is your twin brother…" he mused.

Matthew nodded softly, an apologetic look crossing his face. "Alfred doesn't like doctors because he thinks they're evil."

"I gathered that much," Arthur replied, unable to contain an amused smirk as he met the defiant gaze of the little boy. "I suppose he can tag along if he behaves himself."

"DON'T GO WITH HIM, MATTIE!"

Deciding he might as well instill some fear in the rebellious counterpart of Matthew to keep the peace, Arthur sent the boy a dark look. "Do you know what happens to little boys who don't obey doctors, Alfred?"

"No," Alfred huffed, crossing his arms and sticking out his tongue at the doctor testily. There was no way he was going to allow himself to be intimidated by the man. He was going to be brave for Matthew because his brother needed him now more than ever.

Arthur grinned wickedly, green eyes boring into the blue. "They get painful shots with big, scary needles."

Alfred's face paled a bit, but he still managed to keep up his stubborn wall of defense, and for that, Arthur mentally applauded him. The doctor chuckled with a small shake of the head and guided Matthew down the hallway with a warm hand on his back.

Alfred loomed shortly behind the two, having been released by security and permitted to follow his brother as a form of support. He had simmered down, taking the threat of getting an injection rather seriously.

This was certainly a first for Arthur. Normally, he wouldn't treat children and would refer them to a trusted pediatrician, but now he was left with no choice. Additionally, he'd never had to deal with an under-aged patient that was present without a single parent by their side, so that was going to make filling out the paperwork an especially tricky feat that would most likely result in a migraine.

He helped Matthew into a blessedly available bed and made sure that Alfred was not going to convince his brother to make a run for it before disappearing for a bit to retrieve a nebulizer along with some albuterol (seeing as he couldn't be bothered to ask an overworked nurse to do it for him). When he returned, he was pleased to find that both boys were still present and in relatively the same positions that he had left them in.

Depositing the nebulizer on a side-table, Arthur plugged it into the wall and found a disposable children's oral mask in the adjacent supply cabinet. After pouring the liquid albuterol into the nebulizer's cap, he made sure the adapter of the mask was secured to the machine before turning it on and placing the mask over Matthew's face. He adjusted the elastic bands of the mask behind the boy's head to keep the device in place, finally satisfied with his work.

"The treatment should be finished in about fifteen minutes. I'll be back then to examine you again and to ask you both a few questions," Arthur told the twin boys, beginning his retreat so that he could find out how to contact one of the boys' guardians as well as to discover what would be done with them after Matthew was finished being treated.

He had moved to pull the privacy curtain closed when he realized the bloodstained sleeve of Alfred's sweater, eyeing the artifact carefully and pursing his lips. It looked as though Matthew wasn't going to be his only pediatric patient of the day.

"Alfred," he started steadily, recalling how Matthew had told him that his brother was mistrustful of doctors. "May I ask what happened to your arm?"

Jumping in his chair in fright, Alfred spun around to face him, eyes staring into Arthur's as he willed himself to be brave and hold his ground. "What do you mean?"

"Don't play stupid with me," Arthur countered coldly, holding up the boy's arm as though he had captured a fish. The ratty sweater smudged with pure filth couldn't disguise how thin the boy's limb was.

Immediately the child hissed, courageous exterior crumbling as his brain registered the pain and tears sprung in his eyes. "Don't touch it!" he wailed at the doctor, trembling violently and attempting to pull away.

"Could you relax?" Arthur asked, significantly annoyed with all of the child's resoluteness. "I'm not going to hurt you. I'm just going to do my best to help."

"I don't want your help!"

Sighing angrily, Arthur released Alfred's arm, deciding that if the boy was going to be so bullheaded, then so be it. It wasn't in his job description to persuade little boys to accept his medical assistance. He scoffed and left the pair of children, deciding that he would send Antonio to check up on them later rather than dealing with them himself. After all, he wasn't cut out for pediatrics, and he'd always known that due to his thin patience. He couldn't stand the tears and shouts, though he supposed that some children were more compliant patients than the majority of the adults.

Reaching the nurses' station, he let out a tired breath, addressing the nearest nurse who didn't seem swamped with tasks. "Send Carriedo into room eleven when he's done faffing about. I've got a pair of parasites waiting to see him. We also need to contact Child Services seeing as said parasites have arrived with no parents."

"I'll see what I can do," the nurse muttered, already on the phone as Arthur went to tend to another patient.

What a day it was turning out to be.

* * *

Arthur Kirkland congratulated himself on beating his record as within the next hour he patched up a total of eight patients, administering sutures as the more spirited men and women shouted profanities at him. Most were given local anesthetics for their wounds and ailments through the help of some trusty syringes, but others opted to take the 'high road' by declining any pain medication beforehand. It was because of these patients that Arthur became fearful for the safety of his own life as one of the more brutish men sent him a murderous look as he finished his work.

When he had finally decided that he had seen enough bleeding wounds for one day, he was called back to the nurses' station and ordered to deal with yet another round of commotion taking place in room eleven. Apparently, he was being specifically asked for.

_He had a feeling that he wouldn't be able to get rid of those rascals so easily._

So he accepted his fate and made his way to the forsaken room to see what the problem was. He pushed back the curtains to find a rundown Antonio standing over Alfred and Matthew, stethoscope at hand as he tried to reason with the two boys.

When Alfred spotted Arthur, the child's gaze hardened. "You left us. You said you would be back."

"You said you didn't want my help," Arthur backfired. "Either way, I don't specialize in treating children."

Alfred grabbed hold of his brother's hand, squeezing it tightly as he continued. "You're still a doctor though. You helped Mattie, but then you abandoned us."

Arthur growled under his breath, shaking his head in negation to the claim. "I sent another doctor in to take care of it, one who _does_ specialize in children. I'm growing very sick of your attitude, lad."

Antonio turned to his colleague, downtrodden as he gave the man a pleading look. "The little one in bed said that he wanted to see you. I'm sorry for the trouble but perhaps you could take over? I really am busy and don't have the time to play games."

Arthur wanted to snap and say that he was busy with his own group of patients as well, but kept quiet seeing as most of the people he had treated were already on the road to being discharged within the next hour or so. One look into the fatigued doctor's eyes and he couldn't protest any longer, opting to solemnly nod his head and watch the man's exit.

"At least someone appreciates my help," he muttered, smiling wistfully at Matthew. "Are you feeling any better, lad? How's your breathing?"

Matthew bashfully lowered his head, picking the lint off of the bed sheets. "I'm okay."

"Splendid. Allow me to take another look at you, okay?"

He lifted the boy's sweater once more and rested the cold stethoscope against his chest, nodding in satisfaction upon seeing that the wheezing had ceased and the boy's airways seemed to be clear again. He pulled the stethoscope away and gave Matthew a thoughtful look, beginning the necessary interrogation process.

"Matthew, are you aware that you're an asthmatic?"

Matthew tilted his head to one side, a contemplative look growing on his face. "What's that?" he finally questioned, more than a little confused.

"It means that you have a chronic respiratory disease which—" Arthur stopped himself, realizing that he was speaking to a boy that was surely no more than eight years of age. He would have to explain the condition in terms that a child such as himself could process. "Well, simply put, it's when your lungs don't function as well as they could because of excess mucus and swelling in your bronchi, which are the passageways for air. The swelling can be caused by a number of things that we in the medical business call 'triggers'. Your triggers could range from allergies, to being sick, or breathing in cold air. You need to avoid these triggers so that you don't have another asthma attack again. Normally, it would be your parent's job to keep your asthma under control since your still so young and little, but—"

Matthew interjected the man , discontent evident in every feature of his face. "I'm not little! I'm seven years old!"

Ah, finally he had obtained a new tidbit of information from the children. He smiled dryly and nodded apologetically, pleased to see that his estimate had only been a year off. "I'm terribly sorry. You're absolutely right—seven years old is very grown-up indeed. Anyway, seeing as one of your triggers caused you to have a rather severe attack, it would probably be best to put you on some preventative medication to lessen your chances of having an episode again. Before I can do that though, I need to know the name of the adult that is looking after you two. You said that your parents were gone before. What did you mean by that?"

Alfred stepped in suddenly, protectively standing in between Arthur and Matthew. "Mattie and I take care of each other. We don't need any adult's help."

"If that's the case, then what do you think would've happened if the hospital's security didn't escort you both here today? Matthew's condition would've only have gotten worse, and he could've become seriously ill. What would you have done then?" Arthur asked the defensive child pointedly, staring him down. "We've already contacted someone to come and retrieve you both after—"

"NO!" Alfred shrilled, long-suppressed tears finally flowing freely from his eyes. "You can't let them take us away! W-We're fine on our o-own."

Heart softening and turning to mush in a way that he didn't realize he was physically capable of, Arthur patted Alfred's back reassuringly. "All right, just settle down. I'll work something out and make sure that you are well taken care of after you both leave here, okay? For now, let's just take everything one step at a time. First, I'm going to order a Pulmonary Function Test for Matthew to see the real extent of the asthma. Then, I'm going to give both of you a full examination, seeing as I've noticed a few underlying problems like malnutrition. So, no more tears. Chin up and we'll fix this mess," Arthur soothed, a little stunned himself to see that he was actually managing to handle the situation despite his dislike of children.

Alfred wrapped his arms around Arthur's legs, resolve dissipating. "Thank you for fixing, Mattie. Don't leave us again."

"You're very welcome," Arthur murmured, ruffling the boy's matted hair as a pleasantly warm feeling erupted in his chest. "I won't leave for very long again, but you're going to have to let me take a look at that arm of yours."

Alfred sniffled and nodded, holding out the offending arm as a peace offering. "I scraped it on a piece of metal a few days ago."

Gently pulling back the sleeve and having it bunch at the boy's elbow, Arthur inspected the wounded forearm, grimacing slightly as he noted the tell-tale signs of infection on the swollen flesh. "Hold still," he ordered the child before rummaging around for a clean pair of gloves and snapping them on. He then ran a finger over the length of the deep scratch, chewing on his lower lip as he usually did when he was in deep thought. Finally, he finished his inspection and took off his gloves.

Delivering his verdict, Arthur gave the exposed wound another look from afar. "It's a bit infected, but it doesn't seem to be too serious. I don't see much drainage…" he spoke to himself, going through his options. It wasn't a good idea to stitch the wound up and possibly worsen the infection, so he'd have to settle on topical antibiotics and some proper bandaging. "I'll disinfect it and wrap it, but the bandages are going to have to be changed frequently, and I don't suppose you have anyone who can do that for you when you leave here. We'll have to figure something out when the time comes. Not to mention it'd be wise to give you a DTaP immunization."

Alfred cocked his head to the side, horribly confused by the doctor's words. "What's an immuni—immunemization?"

"Immunization," Arthur corrected, suddenly scolding himself for scaring Alfred with the threat of getting a shot previously. The child certainly wasn't going to be pleased with him after he was properly treated. "It'll keep you from getting sick. It's possible that after getting such a scrape, you could develop a variety of diseases. And though you seem fine now, it's best if we're cautious and administer the vaccine anyway."

_Well, he supposed he was used to people hating him anyway. _

Alfred immediately grew anxious. "V-Vaccine?"

_Oh, dear God, how did he get stuck in this position? _

"Don't worry, everything's going to be just fine," Arthur murmured in what he hoped was a tender lilt. "I'm going to get this all sorted out. Sit tight and I'll be back in a tick."

It was then and there that he realized he wouldn't be able to live with himself if he let those boys down.

* * *

"Good, now take in a big breath… Keep going… Breathe out…" Arthur mumbled, coaching Matthew as he took his first Pulmonary Function Test or PFT for short. The British doctor had resorted to literally doing everything on his own, seeing as the nurses and various medical assistants on the floor couldn't be trusted to get his orders done in a timely manner. And well, if there was one thing that he was good at, then it was managing to get things done on his own. He knew full well how to have a patient take a PFT, and he wasn't going to wait for anyone to finally grace him with their presence so that it could be completed four hours too late.

Matthew coughed roughly, bringing a fist up to his mouth to block the gust of air. When he had recovered, he blinked at Arthur expectantly.

"It's normal to be a little breathless after the test," the doctor informed reassuringly, stifling a yawn as his exhaustion began to catch up with him. He took the spirometer used to measure Matthew's airflow away. "I'll print out the results and look them over to see if they're in a healthy range, though I suspect they aren't."

Matthew frowned, folding his hands together and looking a little curious. "I'm not breathing enough air?"

"Actually," Arthur began, briefly reminding himself to simplify his answer, "with asthma, it isn't that your lungs aren't getting enough air. In fact, it's the exact opposite. Your lungs are having difficulty with releasing the air that you're breathing in. In turn, that makes it hard for you to breathe in new air as well."

"But I feel okay now…"

Arthur sighed, placing a hand on Matthew's shoulder wearily. "Matthew, I'm afraid that even when you're not having an asthma attack, the disease will still be affecting you. There is no absolute cure, only rescue and preventative medicine."

"Will I have it forever?"

Arthur glowered, hating that he had to be the bearer of bad news for the child. "Yes, but it's also possible that you will never get an asthma attack ever again. Nevertheless, you will still need to be on medication. Now, let's take you back to your brother, hmm?"

Glancing at his watch, he noted that it was now seven o'clock. If he recalled correctly, he'd returned from his lunch break at around one. Since then, he'd been on his feet nonstop, leaving him feeling dead inside.

He dragged himself into room eleven yet again, only to be greeted by Alfred's sparkling blue eyes that continued to be filled with deep concern for his brother.

"Is Mattie okay?"

Arthur allowed himself a tired chuckle upon seeing the child fretting over his twin. "Yes, he's perfectly fine, dear boy."

Alfred smiled softly, hopping off the hospital bed to greet Matthew. He then observed Arthur silently, a new found trust beginning to form between him and the doctor.

"You look tired," he noted.

"That's because I am tired."

"Go to sleep then," Alfred ordered as though the solution to Arthur's problem was blatantly obvious.

Arthur snorted. "I wish I could, but I'm tending to you both. I need to go back to pick up those test results, and then I need to prescribe Matthew's medication. After the hour is up, I'll probably have to treat a few more patients before I can call it a night. I doubt I'll even leave the hospital tonight. If I'm lucky, I'll be able to take a quick kip in the terribly uncomfortable bunk beds set up for such situations."

"You sleep at the hospital?"

"Sometimes it's necessary."

"You can sleep on the bed here if you want. You need it more than us," Alfred offered charitably.

Arthur laughed despite himself, fondly mussing up the child's hair. "Thank you for the invitation, but I'm afraid I must decline."

And with that, he left to properly look over the PFT results and to prepare the necessary items that he would need to tidy up that mess on Alfred's arm.

Releasing an enormous yawn this time, Arthur couldn't wipe away the image of those adorable twin boys out of his mind no matter how much he tried.

And a voice of reason kept urging him not to get too attached.


	2. Chapter 2

"All right, I've got presents for you boys!" Arthur exclaimed with as much cheerful sarcasm as he could manage, considering that he had officially been on his feet for eight straight hours. He strolled over to the bed that the twins were sharing, depositing hospital gowns and bracelets onto their laps. "The powers that be have finally registered you both into the computer system. You also have your own medical files now, though I'm afraid they're rather empty."

Alfred was the first to respond, looking at the gown disdainfully. "Do we have to wear this stuff?"

"Yes, it's protocol since you'll both be staying overnight. Besides, I'm sure it's better than those filthy rags you've both been wearing," Arthur commented loftily, still wishing he could have a better grasp of the children's background history. He was sure that there were plenty more pieces to the puzzle.

Matthew pulled his moth-eaten sweater off, shivering as he did so. "How long are we staying?"

Arthur frowned, helping both boys clasp their hospital bracelets onto their thin wrists. "It's hard to say. You've both arrived at a really horrid time. We're very disorganized at the moment, so you may end up being stuck here for a few more days until we get a housing situation sorted out for you both."

And with that, he gave the pair some privacy to change as he went to retrieve extra blankets, knowing that the boys were probably chilled to bone from sitting outside all day long. When he returned, he set down his spoils and got to work on the task that had been bugging him for a while. He would've addressed it sooner if there hadn't been so many distractions.

"Now that everything's settled, it's time for me to clean up that cut on your arm, Alfred," he announced, finally deciding to sit down and rest his legs for a moment on the rolling stool that he had stolen from the nurses' station previously (they probably would never notice its disappearance— or so he assumed).

He had Alfred sit up on the edge of the bed and extend his arm, snapping on a new pair of gloves and retrieving a bottle of disinfectant as the boy followed his orders. He shook the metallic canister for a moment and held Alfred's arm steady with his free hand before saying, "This might sting just a tad."

Barely having the time to prep for the pain, Alfred hissed loudly and whined as he felt the aerosol meet his skin, trying in vain to pull his arm away from the man's reach. "It's cold!"

Arthur shushed him quietly, unsurprised to find that Alfred was a much less complacent patient than Matthew. Truth be told, he had handled far less obedient adults, which was a wonderful revelation once he realized that his job wouldn't be as difficult as he had initially expected it to be. "Relax, it'll feel better in a moment," he muttered before retrieving a pad of gauze and putting a generous amount of antibiotic ointment on it. He then pressed the soggy material against the cut and wrapped a bandage around the area to keep the gauze snuggly in place before deciding that there was nothing else that could be done for it until the infection subsided.

He let Alfred fawn over his work for a minute before discreetly pulling open the packaging of a sterile syringe and filling it with liquid from the little glass jar containing the DTaP vaccine he'd mentioned to the boy previously. He dug around the pockets of his white coat for a minute before finding the spare alcohol wipes that he always carried with him, opening that packaging as well before steeling himself for a battle with Alfred.

At first, the boy barely even noticed what he was doing due to being engaged in an animated conversation with his brother over how 'cool' his bandages looked. Arthur had jumped at the opportunity, swabbing the boy's upper arm with the wipe to disinfect the site of the injection. He hastily pinched the inch of skin and tissue that he would be working with to make sure he wouldn't insert the needle too deep, nearly getting away with the maneuver until Alfred finally spun around to see what he was playing at.

Immediately, the child went bug-eyed and began screeching as loudly as he had when he'd first arrived, shrinking back from Arthur as the man swiftly stowed the syringe aside and tried to pretend that he'd never intended to use it in the first place. It seemed that any ounce of the trust that he had gained from the boy seemed to fly right out the window.

"Alfred, please!" he beseeched, desperate to get the child to calm down. "I'm only trying to help you! It was wrong of me to scare you when you first arrived at the hospital, and I apologize for that. This'll only take a second, and it will all be over."

Arthur's reasoning seemed to fall on deaf ears as Alfred clutched Matthew for dear life, nearly hyperventilating as his twin froze in his brother's arms.

"Really, there's no reason for such a fuss. You're being ridiculous."

"Go away!" Alfred sobbed, breath hitching violently. For a moment, Arthur feared that Alfred would have an asthma attack of his own. "I told you I didn't need your help! I don't need anybody's help! I have Mattie! I didn't need Daddy or Mommy either!"

Arthur rubbed his eyes wanly, brows furrowed. He repeated the question that he had been pondering over for the entire day. "What happened to your parents, Alfred?"

Alfred's swollen red eyes rose to meet Arthur's, anguish inscribed into every feature of his face. For the tiniest second, he seemed beyond his years—baby blues pleading Arthur to be an empathetic listener that might be capable of bringing him closure. "Mommy g-got sick and Daddy didn't want us so we ran away. Mattie and I are happy now because we have each other!"

"Oh, Alfred," Arthur murmured feebly, unable to come to terms with what the little boy was telling him. He could only imagine the horrors that these two children had gone through, and he was suddenly overwhelmed with the need to protect them from further harm and disappointment. "You don't always have to be on your own. We can contact your father and find you a new home if found necessary."

Alfred shook his head decisively, wheat-colored hair brushing against his brother's neck as he refused the proposition. "I don't want another Mommy or Daddy!"

"No one is going to replace your parents, Alfred, but it's very important that we find someone who can take care of you and provide you with a safe place to live," Arthur rationalized calmly. "You wouldn't want yourself or Matthew to get sick again because there's no adult around to help, would you?"

Alfred ran a hand over his tearstained face, shaking his head feverishly once more as the doctor decided to put the subject to rest for a little while. After all, there was no point in further upsetting the boy.

"I was going to give you this after giving you your vaccination, but I suppose it'll be of greater use now," Arthur said cryptically, rummaging in his white coat again before withdrawing a cherry lollipop and handing it over to the distressed child. "Something to medicate your sweet tooth. Now, enough crying. You'll be all right."

The tears stopped their waterfall-like stream after another minute or so, and Alfred gratefully accepted the candy, ripping open the plastic covering and gnawing on the treat as his sobs died down.

Arthur smiled sadly, rubbing the boy's back for a moment before producing a second lollipop and passing it over to Matthew. "You didn't think I forgot about you, did you?" he asked the more introverted child. "You're sure to have a sweet tooth as well."

Once the lollipops had begun doing their jobs, Arthur decided to raise the inevitable question again. "Now can I finally give you your vaccination, Alfred? I promise it won't hurt."

"You're lying," Alfred snapped, the lollipop clanking against his teeth as he spoke.

Arthur decided to put his pediatric skills to the test. Who was to say that he couldn't bargain with a child? He was sure that with a bit of imagination, he could easily come out victorious and prove his worth to the seven-year-old. "No, I'm not. I know the secret trick for making shots painless."

"I don't believe you."

Arthur couldn't suppress a smile, entertained by the boy's cheekiness. "Well, then you should let me prove it to you."

More than a little inquisitive, Alfred skeptically stared directly into Arthur's eyes, as if trying to find out what he was thinking. "Fine, but if you're wrong and it hurts, I want another lollipop."

"You have my word."

Delighted over the small success, Arthur set to work with his plan, hoping to use Matthew as a distractive tactic. "I want you to turn your head to the side and close your eyes. Then, I want you to squeeze Matthew's hand, okay?"

Alfred continued to look mistrustfully at the doctor, but decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. He took Matthew's hand in his own and shut his eyes, using his freehand to continue to nurse the lollipop. "Now what?"

Arthur disinfected the injection site once more just to be safe and brought the syringe over again. He made sure Alfred wasn't peeking before deciding that it was clear to continue. "Cough," he ordered the child without preamble.

Slightly confused but choosing not to question the man, Alfred decided to do as he was told.

As soon as the boy took in a breath to cough, Arthur plunged the needle into the plush tissue of his arm, draining the liquid in the syringe in less than a millisecond before removing the needle once more and disposing of it in the proper waste bin.

He fished for a band-aid in the cabinet and plastered it onto the punctured area, securing it before inwardly patting himself on the back for a job well done.

Alfred opened his eyes, a little tearful as he turned back to face the doctor. "Is that it?"

Making a sympathetic noise and chuckling weakly, Arthur nodded coolly. "Yes, poppet. It's all done."

"It still hurt a little bit," Alfred whined unhappily, releasing Matthew's hand. "I want my second lollipop."

Arthur scoffed, a bit offended that Alfred was not completely convinced that he did a good job. "If you insist," he surrendered, disheartened that the child's comments had rained on his parade. "I'll go on a scavenger hunt for some later. Now, if you feel the slightest bit ill in the next few hours, you have to let me or another doctor know, understood? There are some mild side-effects to the vaccine, but it shouldn't be an issue. Try to get some sleep boys, and we'll figure out what to do with you both in the morning."

"Will you still be here tomorrow?" Alfred asked, trying not to sound too hopeful or eager for the doctor's return. He would never admit it, but he couldn't help savoring the feeling of being sheltered and cared about. Normally, he was the one who was always expected to be strong for the sake of his brother—always keeping them fed and out of the malignant clutches of the city.

The crooked smile that Arthur sent him made him feel small and safe, which was something he hadn't experienced in a while. "Alfred, I practically _live_ here."

What a sorry truth.

* * *

"Kirkland, do you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

"Exactly!"

"I'm not sure I underst—"

"It's the sound of silence. Sweet, glorious, golden silence," Antonio pronounced, collapsing into the nearest chair. "_Dios mío_, we've survived."

Arthur grunted unintelligibly into his morning cup of tea as a response. "Aren't you a temp? You should be used to these types of situations."

His sluggish colleague shook his head weakly, wincing as it seemed to worsen his headache. "You don't understand. I've never covered for such a busy night. I'm finally going home in a few minutes."

"Good for you," Arthur congratulated lightly, taking in the deep scent of hand sanitizer lingering in the atmosphere. "You've earned it."

Antonio mumbled a word of thanks, leaning back heavily in his chair. "I finally get to go home to my little Lovino. I'm sure he's upset that I missed another Christmas."

"That's a shame."

The Spanish doctor sighed, a worried little frown knitting itself onto his face. "Yes, but that's what my job requires me to do. I had no choice. Anyway, how are those children from last night doing?"

"Turns out they're fine except for some obvious vitamin deficiencies. I examined them both before getting a few hours of sleep in that terrible broom cupboard that our supervisor calls a bedroom."

Antonio managed a half-hearted laugh, eyes sunken and dark with fatigue. "Those bunk beds are terrible."

"Believe me, I know," Arthur replied with a groan, stretching out his aching back. "Anyway, some type of social worker is coming over today to talk to the boys, though I highly doubt they'll willingly go anywhere with them."

"You sound worried."

"How could I not be? Two little boys show up in poor condition and insist that I tend to them while also confiding in me, and now I'm supposed to let them go off with some stranger who is probably desensitized toward the severity of their predicament because he or she takes care of abandoned children for a living? It's all just frustrating," Arthur elaborated, nibbling on a blueberry breakfast muffin.

Antonio chuckled, sitting up from his reclined position by shifting his weight to his elbows. "You make it seem as though you plan to take them in yourself."

Arthur just _barely_ managed to safely swallow a piece of his muffin without getting it lodged into his airway instead. "T-That's absurd. Me? Take care of children? I think not."

"Why not? Did you sleep through the maternity and early childhood lectures of medical school?" Antonio joked gleefully, a bit more awake and coherent now. "It's simple, Arthur. You bring the babies home with you and make sure they physically and mentally develop as planned without losing your own sanity. Then, they go off to college and you wait impatiently for the grandchildren."

Arthur rolled his eyes, setting his muffin and tea aside. "Very funny, Carriedo. You and I both know that it isn't that simple. Besides, it's not like they're a pair of stray kittens that I can just invite into my house."

"You're a lonely man, Arthur. Some kittens—I mean children—would set your life into perspective," Antonio said matter-of-factly before reluctantly clambering out of his resting spot on the chair. "Well, I better get going. Take care."

Arthur curtly nodded his goodbye to the fellow doctor, blinking tiredly. He couldn't deny that he was looking forward to sleeping in his own bed as well. Perhaps he could ask to go home for a few hours and come back for the night shift. He doubted he'd be of any use to anyone while functioning on roughly three hours of sleep.

He had been making small talk with a nurse working on one of his patient's incident reports when he felt something tugging on the fabric of his slacks. He raised an eyebrow and tilted his head downward, finding a familiar face peering back at him. He sighed softly, crouching down to be at eye-level with the trespasser.

"What are you doing out here, Matthew? You should be in room eleven."

The child brought his bear closer to his chest, still a little uneasy in the doctor's presence. "Fix Alfred."

Arthur tried to extinguish his habitual concern, reminding himself that by the end of the day, the boys would no longer be his problem to deal with. Why was he suddenly having these paternal feelings in the first place? "What's wrong now? Why does Alfred need fixing?"

"Come," Matthew urged in a voice no louder than an insistent whisper, tugging on Arthur's pant-leg again.

Choosing to investigate, the worn doctor followed along belatedly as Matthew escorted him to the crime scene, discerning what was 'wrong' with Alfred as soon as he had stepped into the room and had been met with a pungent smell. Wrinkling up his nose, he brought a rundown hand to his temple, wondering why he'd been awarded the luxury of taking care of these twins.

"I told you not to call anyone, Mattie!" Alfred blubbered, cheeks and ears flushing red in embarrassment. "Why can't you listen?"

"Now, now," Arthur interrupted, too sapped of energy to allow an argument to escalate between the two boys. "It's not such a big deal. I'll get someone to change the sheets and the nurse can give you a sponge bath."

"Please don't tell anyone else! Only babies wet the bed!" Alfred pressed imploringly, covering his face with his hands. "And I don't want a bath from a stranger!"

"Alfred, it's their job to—"

"Please!"

Arthur growled under his breath, marveling over the fact that the boy had somehow managed to pull at his heartstrings during the course of twenty-four hours. "Fine, but if you won't accept the nurse's help, then we're doing this my way, and I won't take any complaints, understood?"

Alfred unenthusiastically agreed, bobbing his head. "Do I still need to take a bath?"

"Yes," Arthur affirmed in his best 'no-nonsense' tone. "Follow me."

The seven-year-old left his perch on the bed obligingly, hovering behind Arthur like a needy puppy, the front of his underwear and gown soaked through.

Sometimes being a doctor meant getting involved in messy situations, and Arthur had to admit that he'd dealt with much worse in the past.

He led the fledgling of a boy into the floor's dilapidated bathroom, carefully lifting him up for a moment to help him into the battered tub.

"Wait here," he directed, briefly leaving the room.

Alfred pouted, tracing out shapes on the bottom of the porcelain tub with his sock-clad toes. It was nice to not have to worry about the freezing temperatures outside for once. The hospital was warm and the bed that he was sharing with Matthew was the most comfortable thing he had slept on in weeks.

Arthur returned to the room a minute later, locking the door behind him before setting down some toiletries on the edge of the bathtub. He untied Alfred's hospital gown and tossed it aside before pulling off his socks and making a move to help him out of his underwear.

"No," Alfred insisted, taking a step back. "I can take a bath by myself."

Arthur rolled his eyes, giving Alfred an exasperated look as he undid the bandages around the child's forearm and disposed of them. Then, he pulled on a fresh pair of gloves, realizing that getting the boy clean was not going to be an easy feat. "There's no reason to be so embarrassed, lad. I'm a doctor, remember? I've seen unspeakable things. Besides, I don't think a bath is going to cut it. You're going to need a thorough shower."

Alfred blushed fiercely again, refusing to look Arthur in the eyes. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had a proper washing. His mother used to give him and Matthew baths all the time, but things had drastically changed after she'd passed away.

With closed eyes, he allowed Arthur to finish undressing him, letting out a little squeak of shock as he felt steaming hot water begin to trickle down his back.

If there was one thing he was grateful for, it was that Arthur was slow and gentle, rinsing him off thoroughly before lathering some of the hospital's cheap brand of shampoo into his dirt-ridden hair. He couldn't recall the last time an adult had treated him with such care as if he were a fragile piece of silverware.

Arthur clicked his tongue in an irritated manner, trying to wash out all of the filth entangled in the child's hair without agitating the numerous knots that had formed there. When he had done the best that he could, he began scrubbing the boy's skin with soap, mindful of the wound on the right forearm as he did so.

Part of him still couldn't believe that the child had opened up to him enough to allow him to do this, and as he watched the filth detach itself from the little figure before him, he felt his heart ache painfully once more. Life had been so cruel toward the boy.

"All done," Arthur proclaimed a few minutes later, turning off the showerhead and passing the boy a fluffy towel to dry himself off. "Doesn't it feel good to be clean again?"

Alfred nodded mildly, snuggling his face into the towel. "Thank you," he mouthed, struggling to speak.

"There's no need to thank me," Arthur assured, helping the boy dry his hair. "It's the least I could do. In fact, I'm very sorry, Alfred."

The boy poked his head out from under the towel, doe-like eyes regarding Arthur curiously. "Why?"

"I'm sorry you've been mistreated in the past," Arthur whispered, a lump forming in his own throat upon catching the gaze of those twinkling blue eyes. "But I promise you that things will be better soon."

Alfred let out a long breath, his damp fringe fluttering from the action. "It's all okay, so you don't have to be sad," he murmured innocently, not really comprehending what Arthur had said.

Arthur helped the boy out of the tub and handed him a clean children's hospital gown, securing it in the back to make sure it stayed in place.

"And just so you know," Alfred began uncertainly, playing with his fingers anxiously. "You're the best doctor ever."

Arthur felt his face split open into a grin of its own accord.

So much for not getting attached.

* * *

Home sweet home at last.

He'd barely mustered the strength to take a hot shower of his own before practically crawling into his bedroom, eyes already at half-mast as he burrowed himself under the bedcovers. He slept like an infant after that, all other concerns held at bay for a while as he snoozed peacefully.

Regrettably, his body had taken his sudden lack of movement as an opportunity to protest its displeasure. He awoke to sore joints and aching feet, and wished he could just hibernate for the rest of winter until the prospect of going back outdoors didn't seem quite so miserable anymore. Raising his head a few inches from his pillow to check the time on his alarm clock, he noted that he'd been asleep for four hours, meaning that he'd have to be back at the hospital in exactly fifty minutes.

Deciding to make the best of his time, he ate some leftovers for dinner and picked out a fresh dress shirt and tie for the evening, feeling much more invigorated and refreshed than he'd been before falling asleep.

At least now he had something to look forward to, considering that he was off from work tomorrow and would be able to sleep for the entire day if he so desired. Not to mention that he'd be able to go back to his regular position on the Adult ICU floor upon returning the following day.

He dragged himself to his car and started the engine, enduring a bit of traffic before reaching his destination. He shuffled to the emergency room once more, pleased to see that it wasn't overflowing with people again. There were just a handful of patients that remained, meaning that the night was shaping to be rather uneventful.

He began his rounds by visiting the notorious room eleven to make sure that all was under control.

He expected to see Alfred jumping up and down on the bed while Matthew talked to him in hushed tones adjacent to his twin.

What he did not expect, however, was to see the room completely devoid of life and inhabitants.

Outraged, he spun around on his heel and swept over to the nurses' station, eyes sharp and demanding as he questioned the nearest person staff member next to him. "What happened to the patients in room eleven?"

The nurse sent him a choleric look, typing some patient information into the computer database. "They were discharged."

"I didn't clear them to be discharged nor did I sign any of the forms! Did you just allow them to get up and leave?" Arthur asked rashly with gritted teeth. He could not believe what was happening.

"Child Services came to retrieve them. Dr. Bonnefoy signed the necessary documents," the nurse droned, clearly focused on other matters.

Arthur felt his heart skip a beat, seething with rage. "Bonnefoy? Why was Bonnefoy interfering with my patients?"

"He volunteered to take over all of your patients while you were away—someone had to."

"He should've waited to consult me!" Arthur shouted angrily, hands shaking by his sides as his blood went cold. "I want the number and address of the facility they were taken to as well as the name of the person who came to pick them up."

The nurse sighed, nodding her head hesitantly. "Yes, Dr. Kirkland. I'll get to it as soon as possible."

"I need you to do it _now_."

He was going to strangle Bonnefoy as soon as he got his hands on the man. Who did he think he was?

Yet, his fury soon dissolved into a sinking panic. He hadn't even gotten a chance to say goodbye to the boys even though he'd promised them that he'd make sure they'd be taken well care of.

And he certainly didn't plan on breaking that promise.

* * *

_Tbc. _


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: Thank you all for the generous feedback! Reviews make me squeal with delight. :D This story may even turn out to be longer than expected. Anyway, I hope you enjoy reading this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it. :)**

* * *

The hospital seemed like nothing more than a barren wasteland as Arthur watched the agonizing minutes pass by. He completed his rounds to the best of his ability given the situation, often becoming distracted by the gnawing feeling multiplying in size somewhere in his chest cavity.

He simply couldn't understand why he feeling so tormented by the sudden turn of events. In fact, it wasn't quite sudden at all—it had been imminent from the very start. So why did he feel as though a crushing weight had been tossed onto his shoulders? He felt sick to his stomach, nausea creeping up his esophagus as he tried to rub away the nuisance of pain in his abdomen.

Making an ill-timed entrance, he shortly spotted Francis Bonnefoy a few yards away upon finishing up a patient assessment, green eyes burning with newfound life. He approached the other man within a few strides, turning his head up at the taller figure with clear dissatisfaction.

"You're a sodding excuse for a doctor, you know that?"

The Frenchman furrowed his brows, lower lip jutting out in a slight pout as he tsked. "Is something bothering you, Arthur?"

"Bothering me? I'll tell you exactly what's bloody bothering me! You discharged my patients without proper verification from me!" Arthur exclaimed worryingly, an acrid taste beginning to stir in his mouth. "Y-You had no right!"

Francis held up a hand in defense, calmly sorting through a few files. "I had every right. I was in charge of your—"

"This was no ordinary case!"

Dr. Bonnefoy was about to formulate an admonishing reply, but stopped himself at once, eyeing Arthur up and down very carefully. "This is about the children?"

Arthur swallowed around the rock in his throat, nodding meekly. "You should've consulted me."

"I did not know they were so important to you," Francis cut in, a smile growing on his bearded face. "I never expected you to be so interested in a pair of children."

"W-Well, nor did I!" Arthur spluttered, words fumbling in his mouth as he tried to align his thoughts. "I'm just doing my job. It's my obligation to make sure that they get proper treatment once they are discharged and I—"

Francis shook his head, smile widening into a full-blown grin. "There's no need to explain. I will personally go through the trouble of finding you all the information you need."

At a loss for words, Arthur dug his nails into his palms, throat running dry as he watched the Frenchman spare him a reassuring glance. "Now I know why I promised myself I would never voluntarily work in the emergency room. It's because I didn't want to have to work with you and your idiotic mistakes!"

Enduring the blow with ease, the doctor waved his hand dismissively at his old rival, sparing himself another round of sparring. "Go get permission to leave, and I'll bring you what you need. Those children must be pretty special to have won over your heart in such a way, _non_? Do not lose them."

Arthur nodded heavily, eyes glittering with unspoken thanks. "I don't plan to," he grumbled before turning away and making his way down the hall.

"Oh, and Arthur? If you ever need a babysitter, you know who to call," Francis finished with a gentle wink.

The irate doctor scowled darkly in response. "Shut it, Frenchy."

* * *

The first thing he became painstakingly aware of was the cluster of cast aside forms and documents littering the desk of the advisor that he had been referred to; to say that the place was a disorganized mess was a severe understatement. A musky scent lingered perpetually in the air, and he was overcome with a deep urge to pry open all of the windows for some relief.

He had alerted the Chief of Staff physician (Dr. Kiku)of an apparent 'family emergency' and had managed to wriggle his way out of his night shift only to make it to the 'Child Protective Services' agency right before the door could be slammed in his face for the night. After a brief discussion with the person at the front desk, he'd scrambled to the correct floor to meet with someone who would be able to assist him.

He had no idea what to expect.

"So, Mr. Kirkland, how can I be of service to you?" a petite woman with beady brown eyes questioned him from her office chair.

Giving himself a moment to think, he soon realized that he really wasn't entirely sure why he'd arrived in the first place. What did he plan to do? The twin boys were in the State's hands now, and there was nothing more that he could do for them. It would be in his best interest to return to work and continue with his life at the hospital.

But no, the words seemed to rush from his mouth before he even comprehended what he was saying, wishing he had an ounce of self-control left in his body. "There are two boys that were brought in here early this morning from the hospital. I served as their doctor."

"Is there an urgent problem regarding their health?"

"W-Well, no… Not exactly…"

The woman gave a long sigh, crossing her arms. "Sir, what is it that you exactly want?"

Arthur shut his eyes for a split second, feeling time freeze as his thoughts zoomed from one corner of his mind to the other. He wanted to help the boys who had stormed into his life and taken it into their arms without a care in the world. He wanted to be able to know that he had managed to keep at least one child off of the streets. He wanted to be able to proudly state that he was filled with happiness upon coming home to actual company— because as much as Alfred and Matthew needed a real family, he needed one twice as much. He needed to know that he was living with a purpose other than sitting in the hospital all day.

He needed to actually live some sort of semblance of a life.

Flickering his eyes open again, he met the watchful gaze of the social worker, feeling more nervous than when he'd taken his practical exams in clinicals during med school.

"I-I'm interested in adopting a child—two children, actually," he said in a stuttered rush. "And I'm not leaving this building without being assured that they will be living under my care."

"Mr. Kirkland, this is not an overnight process. Surely you understand that?"

"Surely you can make it possible," Arthur backfired, fairly restless. "How does the process work exactly?"

The woman shook her head, more than a bit flabbergasted by the sudden request. "Well, you're going to have the meet with the children first and go over our fee structure. Then, we'll have to complete a home-study and full background check to be certain that you are fit to support them. You may or not be selected. If you are selected, you will receive a placement date during which the children will be able to be brought home with you. Ultimately, a court session will finalize the adoption and the birth certificates of the children will be amended with your name."

Arthur nodded dumbly, trying to remember everything that was being dictated to him while half of his brain shrieked at him to leave and forget this had ever happened.

"Now, you mentioned that you were interested in a specific pair of children?"

Coming back to full awareness, Arthur presented another affirmative head gesture. "Yes, Matthew and Alfred Jones."

"Ah, yes," the woman recalled with a small smile. "We are still currently investigating their case, but we have evidence to believe that their father is currently unable of providing sufficient care for them. It seems highly likely that they will be eligible for foster care. Seeing as you have already met with them, multiple steps can be skipped in this situation."

"Do whatever you must," Arthur stated firmly, refusing to go back on his decision after coming this far. He could only hope that he wouldn't regret it later.

"You might like to take a seat; it's going to be a long night."

It certainly wasn't the first time that he'd heard that phrase.

Arthur's eyes widened in an awed stupor as his heart throbbed underneath his ribcage, making itself known once more. "You're actually going to help me?"

The woman chuckled softly, amusement clear in her expression as she picked up a pen off of her desk. "Dr. Kirkland, it isn't every day that I see a person such as yourself storm in here and demand to adopt a child. I'm fairly certain that someone who apparently cares so much for a pair of children deserves more than just a bemused shrug of dismissal. Besides, it's quite admirable what you're doing, and I'll be damned if those boys aren't left in capable hands."

Well, failure wasn't an option now.

* * *

Four months.

Arthur Kirkland had spent four months preparing himself to care for the two seven-year-old boys that had been plaguing his mind since the day they had entered the hospital.

It had all been a very arduous procedure, but the boys' father had finally been deemed incapable of caring for the boys by the court due to his unabashed negligence toward the children. Apparently, he also had a long history of drug and alcohol abuse.

Not as heartless as some people thought he was, Arthur had even asked Mr. Jones if he'd like to see his children in the future, to which he gruffly declined. It had been a harsh blow for the doctor, who did not plan on telling the twins the logistics of what had happened to their only living parent, but perhaps it was for the best.

After that came the background checks and numerous social workers who came to inspect his house to assure that it was 'child-friendly'. He had gone out and purchased a plethora of items for the boys, putting the money from his overtime hours to good use. Each shirt or toy that he bought went under severe scrutiny on his part, and he debated whether or not the boys would like them.

He had even taken up a parenting class twice a week, drilling himself on things he might need to know before the boys would finally be allowed to come home with him. Truth be told, he was completely terrified that he would be a terrible caregiver. What if the twins disliked him? What if they refused to live with him? What if all of this preparation had been a waste of time?

But he didn't allow himself to dwell on those questions for too long, and instead studied the notes he had taken in his classes on 'conflict management' and 'figuring out your own parenting style'. Really, why did child-rearing have to be so bloody difficult and confusing?

And then, the dreaded date had come—the _placement_ date.

The boys were going to have to live with him for six months before the adoption could be finalized, which meant that he was going to have to prove his proficiency in parenting during that period. If he did poorly… Well, they would cross that bridge when they came to it.

He had entered the temporary foster home that the boys were staying at early that afternoon, palms clammy and nervous tics growing in quantity as he approached the tall building in Lower Manhattan, eyes squinted against the sunlight.

It was supposed to be a surprise—the boys had absolutely no idea that they had already been selected for a new home, so he had come clad with a bag of gifts to break the ice, hoping that the boys wouldn't recoil at the thought of moving in with him.

He met with Angelique—whom he'd soon discovered was the name of the woman who had initially aided him in setting out on this unorthodox journey—and watched anxiously as she gave him a cheery smile of encouragement.

"Everything will be fine," she said promisingly, squeezing his shoulder and guiding him into the room where the boys were staying.

"What if they don't even remember me?"

"Just go inside and stop worrying!"

"I've changed my mind… I can't do this! I'm not qualified! There should be some sort of college course for this!"

"Arthur, please. You're blowing things way out of proportion."

And before he could get out another word of protest, he was pushed into a room at the end of the hall, staggering slightly before regaining his balance and looking up to meet the inquiring eyes of a pair of children.

There was a long moment of deadly silence before Matthew stood up from where he was playing with Alfred, blonde hair slightly longer than Arthur had remembered it being. He also looked quite a bit healthier due to gaining some weight. He was clean and well-kept, accompanied by proper attire that didn't contain holes or patches despite it still being a tad worn and obviously second-hand. Nevertheless, Arthur was delighted to see that the boys were no longer being starved and left shivering on the street.

"Dr. Kirkland?" Matthew asked, sounding flustered as he picked his loyal, stuffed polar-bear off of the ground.

Arthur allowed himself an uneasy smile, kneeling down to get a better look at Matthew as Alfred watched from the corner. "Long time no see. I've brought you both some presents," he muttered uncomfortably, pulling out a pair of matching wooden toy soldiers out of the bag.

"Cool!" Matthew smiled, cheeks pinking as he shyly thanked Arthur and gave him a small hug.

Feeling a little more confident, Arthur transitioned his gaze to Alfred, noting the unhappiness that rested there. "Alfred, why don't you come on over and have a look? I don't bite."

The more rowdy of the two boys shook his head, arms crossed over his chest as traitorous tears stung in his dazzling blue eyes.

Well, that just wouldn't do.

"One moment, Matthew," Arthur whispered mildly, patting the boy's head before standing up and making his way over to Alfred. He sat down next to him on the ground, glancing over the toy cars that the pair had been playing with before he'd interrupted them. "What's wrong, Alfred? Are you not happy to see me?"

Alfred swallowed roughly, steadying his voice before speaking. "You said you wouldn't leave us again."

"Oh, dear boy," Arthur sighed tiredly, pulling the child into a tight embrace and surprising himself with the outward affection that he was involuntarily displaying as though it were second-nature. "You have no idea what sort of trouble I had to go through to finally see you again. I never wanted to leave you."

Alfred drew in a shaky breath, face pressed against Arthur's coat. "You didn't forget about us?"

"Of course not, silly boy. I spent the entire winter and a good portion of the spring working out a way to find you a permanent home," Arthur informed, rubbing circles into the boy's back.

"Did you find one?"

Arthur nodded firmly. "I certainly did. Gather your things because you're both coming with me. That is, if you want to… I understand if you don't… It's only natural…"

"You mean we're going to live with you?"

"Well, yes, but only if you're—"

"YES!" Alfred exclaimed, hugging Arthur as tightly as he could manage. "Will we be there forever?"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Not forever. You might go away to college someday, and who knows how many years I have left on this planet…"

"You're funny," Alfred giggled gleefully, clinging to Arthur and refusing to let go even as the man stood up go lead the twins to his car.

Things were looking brighter already.

* * *

"Here it is," Arthur introduced nervously, swinging open the door to his house. "It isn't much, but it should suffice for now."

"It's so cool!" Alfred said in a sing-song voice, dragging Matthew by the hand and running inside to 'explore'. "We're going to live here, Mattie!"

Arthur grinned, relief flooding through every nerve in his body as he witnessed the boys' excitement. The two bounded up the stairs and he chased after them to make sure they didn't stumble upon any trouble on their first day. "No running!" he scolded light-heartedly, realizing that he was going to have to work on his 'parental' voice if he wanted to keep the pair disciplined.

But a few days of leniency couldn't hurt.

"Is this our room?" Alfred asked in adoration, rushing over to the toy chest and peeking inside.

"Actually, this is Matthew's room."

Matthew's face lit up instantaneously at the statement. "I have my own room?"

Arthur nodded proudly. He had spent a lot of time perfecting the desolate guestrooms so that they could be suitable for the twins to reside in. The walls had been repainted, new beds and furniture had been brought in, and the décor had been replaced with more colorful objects. Still, he wondered if it was enough.

Alfred dashed out of the room at lightning speed, already on the hunt for his bedroom before Arthur could escort him there in a civil manner. He sped inside, noting the sign on the door that bore his name before hurtling towards the bed and bouncing on it excitedly. He'd never had his own room in the past, always having to share with Matthew instead.

"We'll be having lunch in fifteen minutes!" he vaguely heard Arthur announce from the hallway, throwing his head back onto the pillows as he grinned up at the ceiling. He finally had a place to call home again and shut his eyes tightly, trying to catch the emotions and exhilaration of the moment so that he could look back on the memory in the years to come.

When the kitchen table had been set for lunch, the trio gathered around, munching on sandwiches as they all tried to somehow wrap their heads around this drastic change.

"Dr. Kirkland?" Matthew asked between a bite, cocking his head to the side as he often did when musing. "Are we going to have to finish our homework for Ms. Kimberly?"

Arthur furrowed as he wiped his hands on a napkin. "Who is Ms. Kimberly?"

"Our teacher," Alfred supplied, pulling off the crust of his bread. "She would come over every morning to teach us math and writing, but she was really mean and boring."

"That's not nice! Ms. Kimberly always liked me! You were the one who never listened to her," Matthew revealed with a huff of indignation, adjusting his polar-bear in his lap. "I bet Dr. Kirkland doesn't like you either because you don't listen."

"That's not true," Arthur quickly amended, casting both boys a sharp look to avoid an argument between the two. "And there's no need to call me 'Dr. Kirkland' any longer; it's too formal."

Matthew sat up in his chair, peanut butter smeared on the corners of his mouth. "What should we call you then?"

"Just Arthur is fine for now, and I suppose we'll enroll you both in a school as soon as possible. You need to be with children your own age."

"School? We haven't been to school since the beginning of first grade," Alfred murmured, picking at his sandwich with his fingers again. "I don't like school."

Arthur smiled with a light scoff. "I don't blame you. Not many people actually enjoy school, but it's very important that you make friends and are allowed the chance of having a normal childhood. Besides, school can be fun at times."

"I don't think so," Alfred remarked distastefully, scrunching up his face.

"Well, we'll tackle that problem when we get to it, all right?" Arthur asked rhetorically, setting the debate aside for another day. "Now, I've noticed that you've been playing with your sandwich for quite some time now, Alfred, and you have refrained from actually _eating _it. Is there something wrong with it?"

Alfred gave Arthur another self-explanatory look, making it seem like the older man was too clueless for his own good. "I can't have peanuts."

"What do you mean you can't have peanuts?"

"My face and throat get itchy."

"For Christ's sake," Arthur gasped, jolting out of his seat and hastily taking the sandwich and plate away from Alfred before any damage could be done. "Why didn't you tell me that you're allergic to peanuts? Do you have any idea how many foods contain peanuts? If you hadn't just told me, chances are I would've inadvertently sent you into an anaphylactic shock!"

Alfred glowered, looking deflated and troubled. "I'm still hungry though."

"I'll make you another sandwich," Arthur said shakily, bringing a hand up to his head in concern as he pulled out some new ingredients out of the fridge. "Are there any other potentially fatal allergies that you have?"

"I don't think so," Alfred replied innocently, still not comprehending what he had done wrong. A simple ham and cheese sandwich was placed before him a minute later and he happily wolfed it down, pleased that he would no longer have to walk around with a growling stomach. When he was finished, he looked up thoughtfully at Arthur. "Can we go outside and play?"

"Yes, but not without some light jackets. This April air is still rather chilly, and the last thing we need is for you boys to catch a cold on your first week here. All of your new clothes are in your closets."

"It doesn't matter if we catch a cold though because you can just fix it!" Alfred tried to reason.

Arthur chuckled, gathering the dirty dishes and bringing them over to the sink. "No, I'm afraid that's not how it works, Alfred. Even doctors can't magically cure some illnesses; the recovery process takes time. Now, go pick out some jackets and you can both play in the backyard for a little while. I'll have no more arguments."

Alfred sighed and surrendered, taking Matthew with him as they ascended the stairs again and got dressed properly for the weather, racing each other into the yard and roughhousing in the grass. It was nice to be out in the suburbs, separated from the rest of the city as they relaxed in the peace of the quiet neighborhood.

The twins chased each other around the yard and laughed so hard their stomachs hurt, wishing the sun would never go down. Unfortunately, the fun was cut abruptly short when Matthew started complaining of shortness of breath, trudging back into the house as Alfred trailed behind him worriedly and searched for their new guardian.

"Arthur!" Alfred shouted as they left the April breeze behind them and shut the backdoor.

The man came out of the living room a few seconds later, immediately evaluating Matthew's red-face and hysterical breathing before producing an inhaler out of his pocket. He shook it twice and took off the cap, guiding it to Matthew's mouth before pressing down on the canister and administering the medication in two puffs.

The child relaxed at once, breaths steadying as his frightened eyes peered back at Arthur's.

"Better?" Arthur asked calmly. "Always remember not to panic when you feel like you're having an asthma attack. In a few weeks' time, we should finally be able to get the asthma under control with the preventative medication. Then, you shouldn't have any problems with running around and exercising as long as you don't overdo it."

"I'm scared," Matthew whimpered, realizing he had nothing to clutch for comfort because his polar-bear had been left behind somewhere.

Arthur scooped the boy into his arms instinctively, protectively cradling him. "There's no reason to be scared, but from now on I want you to carry an inhaler with you everywhere you go, okay? That way, if I'm not there, you can take the medicine yourself. I'll teach you how to properly take it."

Matthew nodded, worn out from hours of play.

Alfred seemed to disappear for a few moments before returning with something to make his brother feel better, still looking concerned. "Mattie, here's Kumajirou!"

Lifting his head off of Arthur's shoulder, Matthew gratefully accepted the toy, squeezing it roughly and pressing his face into it.

"Matthew, that toy is absolutely covered in grime, don't bring it to your face," Arthur said with a grimace, taking the offending object away. "I'll get you a new polar-bear."

"No!" Matthew cried, reaching out his hands to take it back. "I need him!"

"Mommy gave him Kumajirou," Alfred explained to Arthur, stressing its importance.

The man eyed the stuffed animal critically, conceding in the fight. "Fine, but allow me to at least wash him. Then, you can have him back. The dust and dirt won't do your asthma any good."

Matthew frowned but agreed, opting to nuzzle his face into Arthur's shoulder again.

Arthur carried the child over to the couch carefully so that he could rest for a moment. No parenting class could have prepared him for this.

He was going to have to work things out on his own.

Dear lord.

* * *

_Tbc_


	4. Chapter 4

Sleep was an unattainable aspiration during the course of that first night. After all, how could anyone expect him to snooze through his first night on the job? He was a parent now (or as close to one as he would ever be), and that meant that he was going to be on patrol until dawn arrived or at least until he could be assured that no danger would befall the twins throughout the rest of the early hours.

He paced through the corridor, filled with an insatiable restlessness as he treaded over to Matthew's room once more, peeking in to find the child soundly asleep in his cocoon of bedcovers. His little figure rose and fell with each rhythmic breath, arms clinging to the abused polar bear that had been washed and dried earlier in the day.

Letting out a long sigh of relief, Arthur shut the door and stalked the few feet over to the next room, green-eyed gaze searching for his second young charge. There, Alfred lied in a huddled ball, seemingly swallowed by his blanket due to it being pulled over his head.

With a small, amused smile, Arthur approached the boy, gently pulling back the fleece blanket to allow the child room to breathe.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when the curled up being sprang with life.

"GAH!" Alfred shrilled, startled as he flopped over onto his back and blinked wildly at Arthur in immense fear.

Berating himself and gathering his bearings, Arthur frowned deeply, a guilty look crossing his face as he took a few steps back. "I'm sorry. Did I wake you?"

"No, I couldn't sleep," Alfred spoke through a frightened gasp, goose-bumps forming on his skin and his pupils dilating. "I t-thought you were a…" he trailed off, shaking his head and lying still once more.

"You thought I was what?"

"You'll laugh at me if I tell you."

Arthur scoffed, crossing his arms and shooting the boy a disbelieving look. Did he honestly think he would be so callous? "Don't be ridiculous."

Alfred sucked on his lower lip, bringing the blankets closer to his chest as he shrunk under his new guardian's gaze, cheeks brightening in humiliation. "I thought you were a monster or worse—a ghost."

"Hmm… A monster, you say?" Arthur hummed, taking a seat next to Alfred on the bed casually. He'd taken child psychology in school, and he was sure that there was some sort of scientific explanation for Alfred's irrational fears. He didn't have enough experience in parenting to know how these situations usually worked, but he supposed offering to listen was a good place to start in order to help. "And why would you think such a thing?"

"I don't like the dark. I heard all kinds of noises outside of the window… Mom used to always chase away the monsters; she said they were afraid of her," Alfred mumbled, pressing the blanket to his face as he let his eyes flutter shut. "I couldn't sleep unless I was really tired when it was still just Mattie and me."

Arthur nodded, various ways to treat this predicament already festering in his mind. He didn't particularly want to view Alfred as a science experiment of sorts, but it was the only way in which he could see himself fixing the problem. He wasn't even sure how to be a parent yet. His brochures and magazines said that his parenting style would develop with time, so he would just have to go with the flow of the current for a while. "Now, Alfred, the best way to tackle this issue is for you to face your fears. Cognitive and behavioral sciences suggest that exposure therapy is relatively effective. So, with that, think of something pleasant and try to go to sleep," Arthur stated, standing up and making his way to the doorway as he hoped that the crisis had been averted.

"Wait! Don't leave me! I'm still scared!" Alfred cried from behind, reaching his arms out as if to catch Arthur and drag him back. "I don't want expos—exposture—therapy!"

"Exposure therapy," Arthur repeated half-heartedly with a growing helplessness. What was he supposed to do to treat Alfred? He couldn't recall discussing such an issue at the parenting classes. "How do you expect to get over your fear if you don't confront it?"

Alfred let a little whine emit itself from his throat. "I don't know!"

"Just shut your eyes, and you'll be asleep in no time."

"Arthuuuur!"

The man let his shoulders slump forward, wondering why Alfred had to be so difficult. With a few strides, he was back at the bedside, crouching down to face the child again. "What do you expect me to do?"

"Just stay," Alfred pleaded, pulling Arthur to lie down with him. When the man was seated next to him once more, he hugged the elder, content with the mere physical contact. "If a monster comes in, will you beat him up?"

Arthur felt a chuckle rise out of his throat, unable to process how surreal the entire situation was. Who would've thought he'd be comforting a child and persuading them to go to sleep? He never would've even imagined such a feat becoming a reality.

"Just go to sleep, Alfred," he finally murmured, stiffening ever-so-slightly as the boy rested his head on his chest as though he were his personal pillow.

With a few indistinguishable mumbles of content, Alfred let his eyes drift to a close. "Tell me a story."

Arthur spluttered, flabbergasted but unable to bring himself to make his escape out of the room. "A s-story? I'm afraid I'm a rather miserable story-teller."

"Please?"

Damn that word. Arthur hated it with a fiery passion. One look into those doe-like eyes and enticing pout, and he was sold. It was official—the boy had him wrapped around his finger.

"Oh, all right," he heaved, feeling a migraine coming on. "What kind of story?"

"A nice one."

Arthur rolled his eyes and cautiously rested a tense hand on Alfred's back. "Can't I simply read you a story?"

"It's not the same!"

Taking in an uncertain breath, Arthur shut his own eyes and tried to let his imagination wander. "Once upon a time, there was a castle… A big castle… And there was a princess in distress. So, a strapping young man saved the princess… And they all lived happily ever after with their mindlessly picturesque and accomplished lives."

Alfred shifted a bit, lifting his head to look up at his guardian drowsily. "Arthur?"

"Yes? What is it now?" Arthur huffed at the talkative child. Bless Matthew's timid little heart for offering him reprieve from having to deal with two rambunctious children.

"Next time, you can read me a story," Alfred compromised.

"Are you saying my story wasn't satisfactory for you?"

Alfred turned his head sideways in thought. "What does 'satisfactory' mean?"

"It means that my story wasn't 'good enough'."

"Oh, okay. Yeah, your story wasn't sat-is-factory," Alfred agreed happily, proud to have learned a new word.

Arthur scowled, expression darkening. "Alfred, if you don't go to sleep _this _instant—"

"Sorry!" Alfred squeaked with a little smile before settling down on Arthur's chest again with a yawn.

Applauding himself on his stern tone, Arthur silently watched as Alfred dozed off, fringe splaying across his forehead. With a fond smile, he brought his free hand to the boy's head, gingerly petting the blond locks. Realizing that there was no way he was going to be able to disentangle himself from the boy's hold without waking him, he tucked them in with the forgotten blanket, feeling his own lethargy catch up with him.

He couldn't ignore the warmth stirring in his heart as he greeted slumber.

* * *

"Mattie, let's go play outside!"

"Not so fast! Neither of you have had breakfast nor brushed your teeth yet," Arthur reminded, chasing after the speeding boys and snatching the nearest twin up by the waist, which happened to be Matthew. He carried the wriggling boy into the kitchen, plopping him down on a seat at the table.

Seeing that his playmate had been taken captive, Alfred followed after him, resigning himself to sitting down for the meal as well albeit impatiently.

"Now that I have your attention, you both might like to know that you'll be starting school first thing tomorrow. I've called the elementary school a short distance away from here, and I'll be dropping you both off on my way to work," Arthur began, passing the boys their morning toast and fruit. "The principal wants to meet the two of you. She was very understanding of your situation and said that there would be no problem in enrolling you even though it's already April, considering that you've both been working with your teacher at the temporary foster home for a good portion of the school year. You'll finally be in the second grade with other children."

Alfred was the first to object, a frustrated look on his face. "I don't want to go!"

"You don't have much of a say in the matter. I refuse to have you both homeschooled, so this is the only option remaining. Besides, it's a very good school, but only if you give it a chance," Arthur reasoned, pouring out orange juice into glasses. "You both need to have a relatively normal childhood. School will help you both developmentally, especially after all you two have gone through."

Matthew was next in voicing his concerns. "What if we don't make any friends?"

"You'll make _plenty_ of friends," Arthur reassured, handing Matthew his glass of juice. "Besides, I can't afford to hire a permanent babysitter to watch you both while I'm at work. There's no point in having you both loaf about the house everyday either. So, it's settled. Today, we'll go shopping for some school supplies."

He was met with silence that could kill and a severe absence of enthusiasm.

Arthur lamented by the kitchen counter, eyes trying to bargain with his two charges. "Boys, don't give me that look! I'm only doing what I think is best for you. School can be a rewarding experience. You don't want to grow up to become uneducated adults, do you? There's a whole world of knowledge waiting to be discovered by you both!"

He wasn't making any significant progress.

"Eat up and we'll discuss this further in the car," Arthur grumbled, surrendering for the moment. It was quickly becoming apparent to him that reasoning with children was close to impossible to successfully achieve.

When their plates had been cleared, and the meal had been given a moment to settle into their stomachs, Arthur rushed them upstairs to clean up and brush their teeth while he washed the dishes and tidied up the kitchen. By the time they had made it back downstairs, Arthur was already prepared to leave on their excursion, grabbing his keys and waiting patiently by the door. He made sure that the twins looked presentable by straightening their attire before deeming them fit to file into the car.

They reached the nearest office supply store in a quarter of an hour, and Arthur did his best to keep the boys in check as he found a shopping cart and began loading it with basic supplies such as pencils and crayons. However, it didn't take long for the boys to grow bored, and soon they were distancing themselves further and further away from Arthur, during which point the man realized that he was going to have to get them more invested in the shopping experience if he planned on keeping them out of trouble.

He let them choose their own notebooks based off of cartoons and animated characters, taking note of each of their favorites for future reference. Alfred seemed to adore Superman and supernatural heroes in general while Matthew stuck to the theme of fluffy cartoon animals out of personal preference.

It was fascinating to see their individual personalities shine, and Arthur hastily noted that the twins couldn't be any more different from one another. He wordlessly observed the two pick out their backpacks and matching lunchboxes from the sales rack and try them on for size, each weighing the pros and cons of each bag before running back over to Arthur with their selections.

"I can't remember the last time we went shopping," Matthew noted, following his brother and Arthur to the cash registers.

Arthur frowned, taking his spot on the line. "In that case, what do you boys say to going out for ice cream after we're done here?"

"YES!" the twins cheered in unison, though Alfred was much louder in announcing his glee than Matthew.

Arthur smiled in return, supposing that a day of spoiling the children wouldn't do them too much harm. After all, he supposed they had earned it after all of their troubles.

Oh, no, he was becoming a _soft _parent, wasn't he?

* * *

"Ar-Arthur?" someone stammered from the doorway of his office, pajama clad.

Green eyes turned to face the bluish-lavender, eyebrows quirking upward in weary reverence and surprise. Said man spun around in his desk chair, regarding the child with a long, exasperated sigh as he laid a hand on top of the boy's head.

"Why are you out of bed, young man? It's _far_ past your new bedtime," he lightly chided, quickly giving his charge a calculating look to make sure that the boy standing before him was not ill or injured in any way, shape, or form. Having made sure that all was well, Arthur frowned at the restless, little figure wringing his thin hands. It was rare for the boy to disobey house regulations.

"I-I can't sleep, Arthur," little Matthew replied sheepishly, nibbling on the corner of his lower lip in apprehension.

Not again! He couldn't handle this two nights in a row! Honestly, was he ever going to sleep in his own bed ever again?

"And why is that?" Arthur interrogated, hefting up the child into his arms and setting him comfortably on his lap without hesitation (he was quickly catching on that the boys yearned for physical affection after having been deprived of it, so he made a mental note to display it more frequently).

He had a pretty good idea as to why the seven-year-old was struggling to get some rest, but decided to confirm his suspicions first.

Matthew scrunched up his nose in thought, tracing circles with his index finger on Arthur's shoulder in trepidation. "What if nobody…likes me?"

Arthur smirked genially, wishing he still had the luxury to worry over such trivial manners. "You're going to make an ample amount of friends, Matthew. However, it won't do you any good to be exhausted on your first day. Besides, you already have one friend who is going to be in your class."

"Who?" Matthew creased his forehead, tilting his head up to give England his undivided attention.

"Alfred, silly. He'll be with you for the entire day, so there is absolutely no reason to be nervous," Arthur reassured, combing a hand softly through the child's hair. It was vital that he provided the twins with care and kindness to keep them from being overwhelmed by the stress of a new home and school. He would also have to consider finding the boys a counselor to talk to about the problems they had faced in their previous home. "I'll introduce the two of you to your teacher before heading off for work, and I'll be there to pick you up as soon as class is over."

Matthew glowered, absently staring at the papers on Arthur's desk. "Why can't I stay here, or go to work with you?"

"Because you don't want to be stuck in this stuffy house all day, do you? You should be having fun and playing with your new friends," Arthur encouraged, rubbing the child's back to soothe him. "Now, I believe it is time for you to go back to bed."

"What if someone makes fun of me?" Matthew queried worriedly, refusing to be put back to bed without voicing the worst case scenarios that were haunting his youthful mind.

Arthur furrowed, letting his hand drop back to his side. "Why would anyone want to make fun of you? You're a wonderful young gentleman, and I'm sure everything will go swimmingly. Regardless, if someone does tease you, your job is to tell me and I'll handle it, all right?"

With that, he stood from his chair and urged Matthew to stand up, ushering the bustling bundle of nerves back into his assigned bed and tucking him in snuggly to make sure that he'd have a difficult time maneuvering himself out of the mounds of bedcovers and blankets should he try to wander about the house again.

Matthew sullenly looked up at him, still displeased with the situation. Nonetheless, he halted in any more attempts at prolonged conversation. Grudgingly, the child rolled over onto his side and wrapped both hands around his bear, forcing his eyes closed. "Goodnight, Arthur," he whispered, peeling one eye open to watch the man's retreat from the room.

"Goodnight, lad," Arthur replied softly. He reassured Matthew once more that everything would be just fine and turned out the light before making his way back to his office to get organized so that he could turn in as well.

Nighttime consolation sessions seemed to be going well thus far. He was slowly mastering the skill of putting children to bed effectively, which was one goal that he could take pride in.

He was getting the hang of this.

* * *

"Rise and shine, Matthew!" Arthur chimed, opening the blinds and spreading his arms out in an exaggerated pose of excitement. His newest issue of 'Practical Parenting' suggested that demonstrating eagerness was helpful in motivating children. "It's time to get ready for school!"

Matthew sat up without complaint, rubbing his eyes with a stifled yawn as he smiled shyly at his guardian's fanaticism, ready to get on with the day's activities after their little pep talk last night.

But not everyone was as 'motivated' to get up that morning. Arthur made the journey down the hall and cocked his head at a groggy Alfred, who had shoved his face further into the coziness of his pillow, refusing to budge from his current position.

"Alfreeeeed," Arthur called in a sing-song voice. "Sit up and smell the roses. I'm waiting, lad."

"Mmrgh," Alfred groaned in response, pulling the bedcovers up and over his head. "Five more minutes."

"I'm afraid not, pet. We've no time to waste. Now, I want you up and changed into the clothes I laid out for you yesterday."

Alfred groaned more pronouncedly, foot twitching in irritation. "Sleepy… I'll go to school _next _year…"

Arthur gave his lazy charge a sly grin before clasping onto his ankles and dragging him to the end of the bed forcibly. The young boy gave off a loud squawk of complaint, flailing his arms and attempting to wrestle his way out of Arthur's arms.

"Let me go! Put me down! I'm not going! I'm not going! I'm not—Oof!" he protested to no avail as Arthur lifted him up and set him on the mattress in a standing position, eye level with him. The man yanked his pajama top off of his head and replaced it with a fresh t-shirt in a few, smooth movements.

"I can do it! I can dress myself!" Alfred pouted his usual pout, slapping his hands against Arthur's forearms grouchily.

"Oh, really? Have we decided to act our age now?" Arthur questioned rhetorically. "Finish up here, Alfred. I will not be pleased if I have to come back in here again."

Alfred scoffed discontentedly, but nodded at his guardian, watching him disappear with an already dressed Matthew who was waiting out in the hallway.

True to his word, Alfred descended the stairs no more than five minutes later, fully dressed in his outfit. He took a seat at the kitchen table and happily inhaled the scrambled eggs Arthur had prepared for them, chugging everything down with a tall glass of milk. It was difficult sometimes to quench the boy's constant hunger.

"All right, I want you boys to get your backpacks while I prepare your lunches. Hurry along," Arthur commanded, clearing the table and preparing two turkey sandwiches. He slipped in a juice box into the lunch bag of each twin before concluding that he may as well sneak them some small snacks, considering it was their first day. He supplied some chocolate chip cookies into the bags, berating himself for encouraging the indulgence of junk food. He promised himself that the spoiling would stop soon.

By the time he had packed the food into the colorful lunchboxes, the boys had raced each other to the bottom of the stairs. Arthur walked over and made sure to secure Kumajirou into Matthew's backpack for him, allowing the bear's head to poke out of the top.

"I think we're all ready to go," Arthur stated with a pleased smile, guiding both twins to the car. His tactic of encouraging a fast-paced morning was evidently efficient for now in getting the boys out of the house on time, so he made note to make use of the procedure in the future.

Thankfully, the drive was as uneventful as Arthur hoped it would be, considering that the boys were still sluggishly coming to their senses from their early wake-up call. When they had arrived at the school, he ushered them out of the vehicle and escorted them to the main office, where Arthur had a few quick words with the principal before being granted permission to lead the boys to their classroom.

The school itself held a light-hearted and cheerful aura around it. The walls were decorated with bulletin boards showing of the work of the students and each classroom door was brightly labeled with their corresponding grade level. Guiding the boys into the second-grade room, Arthur felt his own anticipation and panic rise. What if one of the boys needed him while he was gone? What if Matthew had an asthma attack or Alfred had been lying when he'd claimed that he didn't have any other serious allergies? There were so many dangers in leaving them alone for the rest of the day!

He tried to convince himself that trained and qualified teachers would be supervising them, but that brought little comfort to him when he considered the variety of medical anomalies that could occur while he was not present.

Nosebleeds, fever, pinkeye, impetigo, tetanus, influenza, even a simple scraped knee!

He'd just had the boys move in with him a short two days ago! What if they weren't ready for this new life-altering event?

Luckily, the boys' teacher broke him out of his train wreck of thoughts before it could spiral out of even greater control.

"You must be Mr. Kirkland?" the smiling young man with an unruly head of hair asked politely, his eyes falling momentarily on the white coat and ID tag that Arthur was wearing in preparation for work. "I'm Mr. Simon Densen. It's a pleasure to meet you and your children, and I look forward to teaching them."

His children?

"Yes, likewise," Arthur responded, clearing his throat as he shook the teacher's hand. "This is—"

Alfred interjected before Arthur could introduce him, excited at the prospect of meeting a new person. He extended his hand courageously, trying to seem very adult-like in his presentation. "I'm Alfred!"

Mr. Densen grinned widely, accepting the boy's hand and shaking it vigorously. "Nice to meet you, Alfred! You're going to have a cool time here, huh?"

"Maybe," Alfred grumbled, enthusiasm crumbling upon realizing that he was still going to be stuck in school regardless of whether or not he liked his teacher. Nevertheless, he turned to Matthew and dragged him forward, displaying him as though he were part of a show-and-tell project. "This is my brother, Mattie!"

Shrinking back, Matthew carefully produced a shaking hand to greet the teacher, eyes staring down at his shoes.

Arthur placed a steady hand on his shoulder, urging him to come out of his shell. "Matthew is just a little nervous about being in a new school," he explained to the teacher, who offered him a sympathetic look in return.

"No worries," Mr. Densen winked with a flourish before taking Matthew's hand. "You're going to have a lot of fun here! Why don't you guys say goodbye to your dad and find an empty seat? We'll be starting class in a few minutes."

Dad? Did this man think that—?

Arthur winced, squeezing Matthew's shoulder. "Actually, I'm not their—"

"Want to learn how to make a bottle of soda erupt like a volcano?" Mr. Densen asked Alfred animatedly, already invested in making the boys feel welcome and unknowingly ignoring Arthur's voice of objection.

He really needn't have asked, since Alfred was already nodding his head rapidly and scanning the room to find an appropriate seat. Just as he was about to zoom off, Arthur caught him by the strap of his backpack, pulling him back abruptly.

"Aren't you going to say goodbye?" Arthur asked softly, feeling slightly offended at being brushed off so easily. Is this how all parents felt after seeing their children off to school? It was terrible!

Alfred smiled cheekily, apologizing momentarily before giving Arthur a quick hug. "Bye, Arthur."

"Goodbye, make lots of friends and listen to your teacher!" Arthur called after him, watching as he immediately began mingling with some of the other students; he was a natural at stealing the spotlight.

Matthew on the other hand, was not willing to leave Arthur's side. With a strangled sob, he clutched Arthur's leg, burying his head into the fabric of his trousers. "I don't want to go."

Why was Matthew making this more emotional and difficult than it already was for Arthur? The man could feel his heart ripping in half and shattering into pieces as the child held onto him for safety.

He supposed it was only natural for the boy to have attachment issues, especially considering that he refused to go anywhere without his polar-bear companion. It seemed that Matthew had difficulty with letting go of things with sentimental value, and Arthur couldn't blame him after all of the stress he'd been through after losing his mother and father.

"I know it's difficult, Matthew," Arthur began patiently, "but I wouldn't have brought you here if I didn't think it was best for you. Just give it a chance, okay? If you really end up disliking this school, then we'll figure out something else, I promise."

Matthew reluctantly agreed, giving Arthur one last hug before resigning himself to take a seat.

Arthur frowned, breaking his gaze from the boys for a minute to address the teacher once more. "Matthew is asthmatic and Alfred has a peanut allergy, so if they have any problems—"

Mr. Densen smiled even more widely, which Arthur didn't think could be humanly possible. "I have a copy of their emergency contact information from the office," he assured.

Arthur nodded sadly, deciding that it was time for him to leave. He could wholeheartedly say that walking out that door had been one of the most trying moments of his life.

So, it was back to the hospital to treat upper respiratory infections for him, unaware that the journey he had embarked on was far from being over.

If anything, it was just beginning.

* * *

_Tbc._


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: I apologize beforehand if there are any grammatical errors in this chapter. I'm as sick as a dog and probably did a mediocre job at proof-reading, so bear with me. xD Enjoy!**

* * *

"Okay, Alfred, let's try this once more, shall we?"

"But I'm bored!"

"That's not a valid excuse at the moment. I'm trying to shape you into a well-educated member of society, which means you must master this valuable life skill that we call basic mathematics."

They'd been at it for nearly an hour. For some reason, Alfred was having terrible difficulties with understanding the concept of division. He could add, subtract, and multiply without a single hitch, but he could not surpass this little stumbling block of learning a new algebraic operation.

After a long lecture, Arthur had resorted to conventional methods that his older brothers had once used on him to get him to learn math, hence he'd gathered together a number of apples, lining up the fruit with extreme care as he tried to approach the situation with the masterful patience of an old schoolteacher.

He sat in front of Alfred, taking a moment to stretch out his muscles, which had grown taut after suffering through a hectic day of work at the hospital. "Now, here I have a total of four apples, correct?"

Alfred nodded dully, balancing his head in his hand as his elbows rooted themselves upon the kitchen table. He was dying to finish the little lesson so that he could go watch a movie in the living room with Matthew. It was rather unfair—he thought—that Matthew was such a quick learner while new subjects always took him longer to process and absorb.

"Let's say I want to divide these four apples by two," Arthur began, glancing up at his charge to make sure that the youngster was still giving him his attention. "To do that, I would have to split them into groups of two, right?"

Alfred nodded as an affirmative once more, head feeling heavier and heavier in his palm.

"Therefore, how many pairs of two could I make from these four apples, Alfred? Why don't you arrange them for me?"

Alfred let out an exasperated puff of air, lifting his head up and regarding the apples with a vicious look that could kill. Disinclined, he reached for two of the four apples, pulling them away to one side of the table. Still rather unsure of his actions, he moved the remaining apples in the opposite direction, leaving a bit of space between each pair before looking up at Arthur uncertainly.

"So how many groups of apples have you made?"

"Two."

Arthur's face relaxed with an appraising smile, eyes full of warmth and pride as he patted Alfred's hand softly. "Very good!"

The seven-year-old sheepishly picked at the hem of his sweater, unused to being rewarded for his efforts. For as long as he could remember, no one had really taken an interest in his academics, which was why he never bothered applying himself. As far as he was concerned, there were always bigger problems than learning math, such as finding a warm place to stay for the night.

But things were different since the twins had moved in with Arthur. He was always praising them for the simplest of things and never neglected to ask them to recount how their day at school had gone in full detail. He was always around and always interested, even when Alfred was sure that the man was going to collapse from fatigue at any given moment, and for that, he admired him.

"Now, suppose I wanted to divide twelve by three? What would I do?" Arthur continued his questioning, bypassing the fruit this time.

Alfred frowned and chewed on his lip in concentration. He didn't want to make things more difficult for Arthur than they already were and supposed that he might as well try to get the answer right for the man's wellbeing. The sooner they finished up, the sooner Arthur would have his cup of tea and relax with a good book. If Alfred was lucky, maybe he would even offer to read to the boys.

The pressure was on, and he was now determined to get the correct answer. "You'd have to figure out how many groups of three can be made out of twelve?"

"Precisely," Arthur commended, eyes still alight and twinkling. "So, what would the answer be?"

Counting on his fingers for a moment, Alfred felt his palms grow sweaty as he tried to come to a conclusion. "Three?"

Arthur let out a little sigh, still smiling despite Alfred's mistake. "Close, but no cigar, love. It would be four."

"I'm sorry," Alfred whispered back, shrinking in his seat as he prepared himself for some sort of punishment or mocking words. To his surprise, Arthur did no such thing. In the following seconds, the man was up and about once more, cleaning up the table and shutting Alfred's math books for him before ushering him out of the kitchen.

"There's no reason to be sorry, lad. Making mistakes is all part of the learning process, and you're making excellent progress," Arthur reassured, running a gentle hand through the boy's hair as they walked. "We'll review tomorrow evening again."

Alfred nodded dejectedly and followed his guardian into the living room, where Matthew was absorbed into some sort of animated film on T.V. He was sprawled out on the couch, eyes glued to the screen as Kumajirou rested on his stomach.

And, faithful brother that he was, Alfred immediately took the golden opportunity to startle his brother from behind, jumping on his twin and wrestling on the couch with him for a minute as Matthew let out a strained squeak of indignation.

"Boys, that's enough!" Arthur chided half-heartedly, already making a break for his discarded novel that had been loyally awaiting his return. "Ten more minutes and then it's time to get ready for bed."

A unanimous pair of groans greeted Arthur's ears, causing the man to chuckle involuntarily in sympathy. "It's a school night," he reminded, more for his own benefit. Tomorrow was his day off, and then the weekend would follow, which meant that he was going to have to find a competent babysitter for the twins while he worked on Saturday and Sunday. In all honesty, he really didn't want to have to leave the boys alone with a stranger for the majority of the day, but he couldn't come up with any colleagues or acquaintances that might be able to take up the task.

And then, against his will, the mocking words of Francis Bonnefoy filled his mind, giving him the instant urge to rip his hair out of his head. If he recalled correctly, the old frog had offered his assistance a while back, but he would have to be terribly desperate to accept the aid. Still, he recovered his work schedule from his office, scanning down the chart and list of names to see if the Frenchman was free this weekend.

As luck would have it, he was.

Damn it all to hell.

Well, he'd _think_ about it as a last resort, but there was still plenty of time to find someone else (or so he hoped).

He'd sort it out one step at a time.

* * *

Matthew hated school.

He had made this deduction due to multiple contributing factors. First, he was quickly learning that being the new student in class was not a positive title to be bestowed with, especially not for someone of his introverted tendencies. He attracted judgmental gazes with every little thing he did, and no matter how hard he tried to blend into the shadows of the classroom, he couldn't do it. Every time the teacher would call on him, all eyes would turn to his person as if he were some kind of indescribable enigma.

And it frustrated him to no end that despite all of this hindrance to his academic career, Alfred was shining brighter than ever. He had a surplus of friends thanks to his loud-mouthed banter, and though he was far from having top marks in the class, the teacher absolutely adored him. He was just a bundle of energy each day and remained ceaselessly curious. Half of each lesson would consist of Alfred asking questions about the seemingly most menial of things.

Matthew tried not to be jealous, he really did, but it was difficult to repress his feelings of contempt at times. Why wasn't Alfred fazed by this new atmosphere and life in the slightest bit? If anything, he seemed completely at home and at ease, so why was Matthew left trudging in the mud, trying to gather his bearings? Was there something wrong with him? Perhaps he just wasn't as likeable or outgoing.

Shortly after he'd begun sitting alone during lunch, Alfred had approached him and tried to introduce him to a few of his new friends. Matthew appreciated the futile attempt at cheering him up, but he soon realized that he had trouble communicating with his other classmates. Alfred's friends were all so loud and talkative, and Matthew just couldn't find common-ground with anyone to plant the sapling of a potential friendship.

Needless to say that as the days passed, Matthew and Alfred rarely spoke during school hours, and when they finally did get dismissed from the educational wasteland that was school, their relationship still remained strained and awkward. Alfred had made multiple attempts at mending the gap between them, but Matthew just continued to withdraw further into himself, soon ignoring his twin almost completely.

Yet, there was something much more awful and fierce that Matthew was forced to confront during school that outshone any other matters that might've been bothering him—gym class.

Oh, how he dreaded going to the gymnasium. It made his stomach sink in fear and his mind reel with horrible scenarios that usually revolved around the entire class poking fun at him. He knew that he wasn't athletically predisposed, and his asthma certainly didn't help matters. By his second lesson, it was blatantly obvious that his stamina was far below those of his classmates.

Nonetheless, he had hid his inability to keep up with the class rather well until the fitness-gram had reared its ugly face. The city had made it mandatory for public school students to take a series of physical tests to determine their overall health. It didn't count towards a class grade, but it was still required and rather degrading for someone such as Matthew, who knew there was no way that he would be able to finish the running assessment with a decent grade. These physical tests were taken twice a year; once during the beginning of term and once at the end of the spring semester.

It was a few days short of May, which meant that it was time for the dreaded practical exams again. He lined up against the wall with the rest of his classmates, eyes burning with tears as he vowed that he wouldn't be the first one to stop running. He would push himself as far as he could, and hopefully be able to preserve his dignity. His heart felt like it was about to explode when he finally heard the sound of the whistle and forced his legs to rush forward, completing the first lap to the other-side of the gym successfully.

He started off pretty strong, but by the tenth lap, his lungs had begun to twinge with complaint, burning ever so slightly as he refused to stop so early on. The rest of his class had barely worked up a sweat! He wouldn't be caught dead finishing the test so soon. He was enough of a social outcast as it was.

He knew he was being ridiculous and petty for making such a big deal out of a test that really didn't count for anything, but it was the principle of the matter that motivated him to be so foolhardy. He didn't want to be perceived as weak or incapable of doing the same things as the rest of his class. He wanted to be able to be seen as an equal, and not somebody to be pitied.

So he ran on, face growing red and lungs pleading with him to stop torturing them. By the twenty-fifth lap, his chest had begun to feel as if it were on fire, and he worried that he might be sick from the exertion. A few of the girls from his class had stopped already, but that wasn't enough for Matthew. He had to go further. He had to make it to at least the top ten of his class. Besides, Alfred was still running as if nearly thirty laps was nothing.

However, he didn't expect anyone to intervene in his master-plan. Somehow, Alfred had changed his spot against the wall when the teacher wasn't looking, sprinting next to Matthew and eyeing him carefully as they approached the thirty-fifth lap.

"Stop, Mattie," Alfred insisted as the teacher continued to count their progress. It was the first time they'd spoken in school for a week. "You're tired."

Matthew only shook his head, eyes still burning dangerously with unshed tears. "I can't."

"Please, Mattie."

He panted heavily, sweat slicking his forehead. "I can't!"

And then, the wheezing had made its appearance. By the time the thirty-seventh lap had swung around, Matthew's airways were growing more and more constricted, to the point where taking in big gulps of air caused him pain.

Unable to witness his brother's suffering any longer, Alfred pulled his twin aside, forcing him to stop as he dragged him by the arm toward the teacher so that they could retrieve his inhaler.

"Let go! I'm not f-finished!" Matthew sobbed, trying to throw Alfred's hand off of his figure as he realized that they were now the center of attention in the room. "Let me go!"

The gym teacher swept over to them, already handing Matthew his inhaler and ordering Alfred to escort him to the nurse's office.

And so, the pair traversed down the hallway with Alfred refusing to let go of his brother's arm until he was out of harm's way once more. He all but stormed into the infirmary with Matthew in tow, spinning around on his heel and shoving the inhaler into Matthew's hands so that he could make use of it.

"I don't need it!" Matthew persisted, even though it was quite obvious that the medication was necessary. The nurse and Alfred had tried their best to persuade him to relax and just accept the medicine, but Matthew was as defiant as ever. "I'm fine!"

Alfred scowled, looking awfully a lot like their new guardian as he did so. "No, you're not! If you don't use your inhaler, you're only going to get worse, and Arthur will be mad."

"I don't care!" Matthew wailed, only aggravating his condition more with his hysterics. It was all unfair! Why was he expected to bear all of these new burdens alone? He didn't like this new school, he hated his asthma, and he couldn't stand his dysfunctional family that wasn't even a real family anymore! He just wanted things to go back to the way they used to be, before his mom had grown ill and left them behind in such an unforgiving world.

Despite spectating the impending emotional breakdown that his brother was going through, Alfred managed to stay rather cool-minded throughout the situation, seeming very much like an adult as he politely gave the nurse Arthur's phone number so that the school could contact him. Then, he turned back to Matthew, sad eyes regarding him grimly. "Arthur will be here soon. Maybe you'll feel better then?" he asked his twin helplessly, wishing he could do more to make his brother happy again.

Matthew simply continued to cry quietly, body shaking with quivering breaths as he continued to protest against taking his inhaler.

It really wasn't fair.

* * *

Arthur had spent the majority of his morning off of work tidying up the house, occasionally stopping in his vacuuming to swipe an abandoned toy off the floor or to do away with a particularly pesky dust-mite. After that, he'd done the laundry and sorted the boys' clothes back into their dressers, finding a strange sense of calm in just partaking in the absent-minded tasks of setting things in their rightful place. He let his thoughts wander and hummed a catchy tune from time to time, feeling his nerves unravel as he occupied himself in the silence of the household.

So, when the home phone abruptly rang from downstairs, he'd been understandably startled, tripping over the edge of the rug as he was brought back to reality and went to retrieve the message. He casually picked up the ringing contraption and gave an inquiring greeting to the caller. "Hello?"

"Hello, is this Mr. Kirkland?"

"Yes, how can I help you?"

"I'm calling from the school's nurse's office in regards to your son, Matthew."

_Son? He was still getting used to the parental terminology._

"Is something wrong?" Arthur instantly queried, fingers clenching around the phone tightly as he already began the search for his coat and car keys. A feeling of malcontent filled his gut as he awaited a response from the receiver.

"Unfortunately, Matthew is feeling unwell after participating in gym class, and will need to be picked up as soon as possible."

Arthur felt his mouth go dry, hands shaking as he murmured an unintelligible sound of agreement and thanks before hanging up the phone to rush to the car.

This was just what he had been dreading since the first moment he'd let the boys out of his sight. What if Matthew was seriously hurt? Had he collapsed during gym? Why wasn't anyone calling for an ambulance?

Adrenaline still pumping, Arthur rushed to the school as hastily as possible, wondering if he had possibly broken a world record during the process. Then, he hap hazardously parked across the street from the impressive edifice, halfway at the entrance doors before he even realized that he didn't lock the car and was forced to waste time in turning back.

He made it inside without further incident, momentarily getting lost in the maze of the building until a staff member directed him to the infirmary. He sped inside, letting out an astronomical breath of relief upon seeing that Matthew was in stable condition and didn't look too much worse for wear. He crouched before the seated boy, looking up at the tearstained cheeks before meeting the pained eyes.

"Oh, Matthew," he began breathlessly, pulling the child close to his chest. "What happened?"

At this point, Alfred made his presence known by tapping Arthur on the shoulder, carefully explaining the situation to the best of his ability. "Mattie was taking the pacer test and overdid it. I told him to stop, but he wouldn't listen, so I pulled him away and brought him to the nurse. He also said that he doesn't want to take his asthma medicine."

Arthur furrowed then sighed, petting Alfred's hair fondly for a moment before speaking. "You did the right thing and did a swell job at keeping an eye out for your brother, Alfred. I'll take it from here. Why don't you go back to class and I'll come be back to pick you up soon, all right? There's no need for you to worry about Matthew anymore."

Alfred merely nodded, understanding that it was his cue to leave. He gave Arthur a swift hug and bounded down the hallway again, rounding the corner back to class and leaving his brother in the care of their guardian.

"Why are you making such a fuss, Matthew?" Arthur muttered gingerly before taking the inhaler out of Matthew's hands and bringing it to the boy's mouth. "You have no choice but to take the medicine, Matthew; it's not optional. You're wiser than this."

Matthew merely sniffled inconsolably once more, giving into Arthur's insistent prodding and finally allowing the man to administer the two puffs of medication. When his breathing had calmed, he stared into his lap, refusing to look Arthur in the eyes.

"Let's get you home and we can talk about this, okay?" Arthur asked carefully, not really expecting a response as he took the boy's hand and led him out of the infirmary, briefly thanking the nurse. When they had retreated back to the car, Arthur got Matthew settled in the backseat and started the car, the warble of the engine filling the icy silence.

There was no way he'd make the drive home with his sanity intact at this rate, so it seemed as though he would have to begin his lecture at once.

Taking a weary breath, he looked at the forlorn boy in his rearview mirror. "Matthew, you realize that we need to discuss this. What you did today was very, _very_ dangerous. You could've brought serious harm to yourself. How many times have I told you that your condition is nothing to be trifled with? I am severely disappointed in you, young man."

Matthew simply hung his head in shame, hiccoughs escaping him as he leaned against the door of the car pitifully. "I just wanted to fit in. I don't like this school!"

"If you would just give it a chance, maybe—"

Matthew interjected the man, resolutely wanting to get his opinion across. "I want things to go back to normal!"

Arthur stayed silent, inwardly cursing himself for failing at helping the boys to cope better with all of these changes. "Look, Matthew, I know this is a very strange and difficult time for you. It's been difficult for all of us, but I'm afraid that the only thing we can do right now is to try to make the best of the situation. I'm sorry, but I don't have the power to go back to the past and fix things. These are the challenges we've been presented with, and we have to try to bear them. Things will look brighter once you adapt."

"I hate it! I hate it all!" Matthew screeched, surprising Arthur with how strong and angry he could sound when he truly wanted to be heard.

"Matthew, it'll be all right, just settle—"

"I hate Alfred too!"

Arthur's eyebrow rose substantially, taken aback by the outburst as he swiveled his head around to the little boy and sent him a disbelieving look. "Don't speak ill of your brother, lad. Lower your tone and relax. I know you're frustrated but—"

"He has so many friends and all the teachers like him," Matthew relayed, his aggressiveness decreasing by a small increment. "I hate him! He doesn't even talk to me anymore because he's too busy with his new friends!"

Arthur frowned, reaching over and passing Matthew a tissue to dry his tears. "I'm sure if you just talk to him and explain how you're feeling, you'll both be able to work out a solution. Really, there's no reason to be so upset. We'll both talk to Alfred tonight, okay?"

Matthew discontentedly agreed, feeling just a tad assured, but not really believing that the predicament could be resolved.

Realizing that something had to be done to ease the boy out of his depression, Arthur came up with a foolproof plan.

"How about we go out for ice cream, Matthew? Then, we'll pick up Alfred, and you two can relax at home for the rest of the weekend. Speaking of which, I still need to find that babysitter," he mused, noting that Matthew seemed to look a little less distraught at the thought of being offered ice cream.

"Can I get strawberry?"

"Certainly, lad," Arthur approved, deciding that a little bonding time with Matthew would be beneficial for both of them. After all, he'd been worrying that he'd been spending a little too much time with Alfred as opposed to his brother, and the last thing he wanted was to make it seem as though he was playing favorites. So, with a few more exchanged glances of agreement, he set off for the nearest ice cream parlor.

He really was spoiling the boys too much.

* * *

"So, it's agreed then, Alfred? You'll try to make more of an effort to incorporate Matthew in your activities at school?"

Alfred gave a cheeky grin, showing off the loose baby tooth at the bottom of his mouth that was sure to fall out any day now. "Sure! I wanna show Mattie a whole bunch of cool things, but I was afraid that he didn't want to hang out with my friends and me…"

Arthur mulled over what the child was telling him cautiously. He would have to look into finding a way to get Matthew to communicate more openly with new people. He was still on the hunt for a good counselor or therapist that might be able to meet with Matthew, if not both of the boys, on certain days of the week.

"Excellent, so it's settled," he finally smiled, ruffling each of the twin's heads of hair. "I don't want to see any more feelings of ill contempt. I also found you both a babysitter for tomorrow, and although I would have preferred to have found someone else, I can say with quite a bit of confidence that they are…capable."

"Do you know them?" Alfred asked.

"Unfortunately, and I daresay you both know him as well," Arthur grumbled lowly, displeased that he had been left with no choice but to ask Bonnefoy for help. The frog had pounced at the opportunity, claiming that it was no trouble at all for him to watch the boys for a few hours. He hated the doctor with a passion, but he knew that the twins would be safe in his temporary care. After all, the man was many terrible things, but he was a half-decent doctor and caretaker with a satisfactory bedside manner. Hopefully, it wouldn't be too disastrous.

Matthew scooted closer to Alfred, already feeling a bit better now that things between them were smooth sailing again. "Who is it?"

"Dr. Francis Bonnefoy. You both met him at the hospital because he discharged you both," Arthur informed, wishing he could take back the words and pretend that he had never had to resort to crawling to the man for assistance. "I suppose he'll do a good enough job for now until I can find a more permanent sitter."

"We can just watch ourselves! We're not babies anymore," Alfred suggested, causing Arthur to shoot him a comically incredulous look.

"I don't think that's an option," the man said steadfastly, brushing off the rash recommendation. "Anyway, don't worry yourselves. Go and play for a bit until dinner is ready. After you've both finished, we'll have to work on mastering that division again, Alfred."

Alfred pouted in a terribly sullen manner, trying to look as cute and helpless as possible. "Do we have to?"

"Yes," Arthur said with a tone of finality, applauding himself for not caving into the boys' manipulative tactics. He was starting to develop immunity to their pleas.

He could only hope that Francis wouldn't be fooled, but then again, maybe the man deserved to be tricked.

The thought brought a smile to Arthur's face.

* * *

_TBC._


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note: **Thank you all so much for supporting this story. Enjoy the chapter and please keep offering the lovely feedback! :)

* * *

"Now, I expect you both to behave yourselves while I'm away," Arthur lectured as he reached for a bagel and his morning cup of tea, sparing a fleeting moment to make an attempt at ingesting some nutrients before starting off his day. It was apparent that as a new parental authority, he would have to paint himself as a good example for the boys, always trying to help them build good habits by reinforcing them through his own routine. And breakfast, he always instructed the twins, was never supposed to be skipped under any circumstances. "Have I made myself clear?" he asked rhetorically, shooting Alfred a pointed look to punctuate the fact that the statement had been directed solely at him.

After all, Alfred had a talent for trouble, and—on many occasions—he managed to get Matthew involved in his premeditated schemes.

Nonetheless, both boys lowered their heads at Arthur in such an angelic way that one had to wonder how either of them could ever do any wrong. Harmoniously, they presented the man with the answer he was looking for. "Yes, we understand."

"Right then," Arthur murmured, swallowing a piece of his bagel before giving both boys a harrowing look; he still wished he didn't have to leave. "I'd best get going. Where is that bleeding frog?"

He took an anxious sip of tea and sprang into action as soon as he heard a faint knock on the front door, rushing to let the visitor in. Before they'd even fully stepped inside, Arthur was already poised for an interrogation. "You're late. Where've you been? I have to be on my way."

"I apologize, _mon cher_. There was heavy traffic," Francis Bonnefoy replied calmly, face brightening upon catching sight of the twins watching morning cartoons in the living room. He waved to them both, offering them a gentle greeting. "_Bonjour_, Alfred and Mathieu. Arthur has told me many things about you both."

Alfred jumped to his feet and rushed to make an impression on his new babysitter, returning the formalities and already going off on a tangent about some wild story while Matthew timidly waved back at the man, staying on the couch just to be on the safe side.

"It's Matthew," Arthur interrupted the outbreak of chatter as he tried to regain Francis' attention. "Don't poison them with French. I expect both of them to still be speaking English when I return."

Francis merely chuckled dryly at Arthur's comments, vaguely noting that his shoulder was bound to become dislocated if Alfred didn't stop pulling on it incessantly. "It's always good to learn a new language, _non_?"

"Fine, I'll gladly allow you to teach them German, Spanish, or Italian, anything but that frog speech—Alfred, please refrain from mutilating your babysitter within the first ten minutes of his stay, all right?" Arthur went on sternly as he successfully got Alfred to let go of Francis' arm before continuing to address the man. "Call me if there's an emergency. I should be back in the early evening, but if I'm not, make sure that Matthew takes his preventative asthma medication. You can take them out for dinner if you'd like, but Alfred is allergic to peanuts, so please be careful. Also—"

Francis cut his fellow doctor off, rolling his eyes and placing a hand on either of the man's tense shoulders. "They'll be fine, Arthur. Do not worry so much."

"All right," Arthur surrendered with a weary sigh. He could feel the gray hairs sprouting on his head already. Taking one more minute to tell the boys goodbye, he embraced them tightly and made his way out the door, shooting Francis a warning look before finally making his departure.

Shutting the door securely and locking it, Francis turned back to the children and went over to the couch to start some small-talk. Luckily, he didn't have to come up with a way to break the ice, considering that Alfred and Matthew were already asking him what France was like and inquired of him what they would be doing for the rest of the day.

Well, how was one supposed to go about entertaining two seven-year-old boys for nine hours?

He had a few ideas up his sleeve.

* * *

"What's on the list for today? I hear you have a new admission," Gilbert Beilschmidt asked as he stepped onto the Critical Care Unit after being cooped up down in Radiology all day. "You ordered a chest x-ray?"

Arthur nodded, perusing through a patient's file before directing his attention at the radiologic technologist. "We've got a presumed case of pneumonia in an immunocompromised patient that has spiraled a bit out of control."

"Ooh, fun," Gilbert chimed jokingly, already rolling his equipment into the patient's room seeing as the sick man couldn't be transferred due to his unpredictable condition. He'd have to have the x-ray done in bed. "Special delivery," he said warmly to the patient, trying to cheer him up.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Do you need any help?"

"Yeah," Gilbert muttered distractedly, tossing Arthur a lead vest. "Get him dressed in that."

The doctor got to work, carefully helping the patient into the protective vest before lowering him back down onto the bed.

It was patients like these that always were the most difficult for Arthur to treat; ones that had become so ill out of the likes of a simple cold. To make matters worse, the man was rather elderly with no family to visit him regularly. He'd been admitted after growing ill in a nursing home, and well, Arthur's heart went out to him even though he knew that there was a strict line drawn between patient and doctor that couldn't be crossed lest his emotions impede his ability to do his job properly.

"All set?" Gilbert asked as Arthur finished up and took a step back. The doctor nodded and stepped out of the room, allowing Gilbert to take care of the situation in peace. Just before he had exited, he heard Gilbert softly joke with the patient again, telling him to "smile" before conducting the x-ray. He couldn't help but feel his own lips twitch with a slight happiness, watching from behind the glass window of the room as Gilbert finished his work and cleaned up before strolling out into the hallway once more. "I'm all done, doc. I'll get you your pictures in a little bit."

"That's fine, thank you."

"No problem," Gilbert grinned, his cheer diminishing for a moment as he mulled over a few thoughts. "Do you think he'll recover? Getting pneumonia at his age and with his weak immune system is dangerous."

Arthur sighed, suddenly feeling very cold as the air-conditioning hummed above them through the vents. "Hopefully, though I can't say for certain until I see the x-rays."

"All right, tell him I hope he gets better soon."

"I will," Arthur promised, sitting down at the nurses station to go over a few of his notes. A 102 fever, complaining of shortness of breath, a sore throat, and chest pain.

He vowed to do everything he could to help keep the man comfortable. After all, everyone deserved to have someone looking out for their emotional and mental wellbeing as well as physical condition when they were unwell.

It was unfortunate then, that before he had even gotten back the results of the x-ray, the man's oxygen saturation level was rapidly dropping. Arthur rushed into the room with a number of other doctors on the floor, calling a code as he realized that he had no choice but to intubate the man. Inserting the plastic tube into the man's trachea, he felt his heart ache as it usually did upon dealing with patients who were clearly suffering.

Thankfully, his efforts were not in vain, and the man's condition was soon stable once more despite all of the havoc and chaos that his body had been experiencing. He watched the patient's chest rise and fall with each heaving breath, wiping a bit of sweat off of his forehead as he let out a shaking sigh and made his way out of the room again, continuing his vigilant watch through the window.

The developed images of the chest x-ray arrived shortly after he had gotten his own nerves under control, and he looked them over carefully, tracing out the left lung as he noted the telltale signs of bacterial pneumonia that had formed there. The right lung still looked clear for the most part, which was probably the silver-lining of the day. After making sure he hadn't overlooked anything, he ordered a round of antibiotics, deciding that there was no time to waste.

And then, there was nothing left to do but wait.

* * *

"Be careful! Don't flatten your brother's hand!" Francis cautioned as he helped Matthew roll out a wad of cookie dough more efficiently. He also moved Alfred to the other side of the table and safely out of Matthew's reach so that his fingers wouldn't get crushed in the process of cutting the dough out into little shapes.

If there was one thing Francis took pride in doing when he wasn't working, then it was hobby of perfecting his culinary skills. With little persuasion on his part, he had convinced the twins to work on baking some cookies with him as a way of keeping them busy and out of mischief. He was a strong believer in stimulating the boys' minds through crafts such as baking, and with any luck, they'd be tuckered out by the end of the day and would willingly go to bed.

Though that scenario still sounded highly improbable despite his meticulous planning…

"Look I'm making dinosaurs!" Alfred exclaimed happily as he dug the plastic templates into the dough, watching them transform into different creatures before his very eyes. "Roar!"

Francis let out an airy laugh, happiness swelling as he watched the adorable boys work rigorously at making their cookies flawless. It was no wonder Arthur seemed so much more joyous and less cynical than he used to be. A few hours with the boys and their infectious glee was already being injected into Francis' very bones. He smiled gently at the pair, amazed by their sweet charisma.

"Is the dough good yet?" Matthew asked the makeshift babysitter curiously, squinting at the thickness of the dough to determine whether it had been rolled out to an ideal size.

Francis nodded in approval, handing Matthew some of the cookie cutters that Alfred was currently experimenting with. "Make as many as you can out of the dough, then we'll put them in the oven to bake."

"And then can we eat them?" Alfred asked excitedly, showing off a monkey-shaped cookie.

"_Non_, they have to cool. Then, we're going to have dinner and decorate them before Arthur gets home, okay? If Arthur allows it, you can have some for dessert."

Alfred pouted, but nodded anyway as he accepted his fate. "Aww, okay! I can't wait for Arthur to see them. These are going to be the best cookies ever!"

"I'm sure they will be," Francis agreed, aiding the boys in shaping the rest of the cookies before setting them into the preheated oven. After that, he set the timer for twenty-five minutes and put the boys to work again by having them help in cleaning up the kitchen.

Then, Alfred brought up the inevitable question after noting his growling stomach. "What's for dinner?"

"Arthur said we can go out and buy something. What would you boys like?"

He really shouldn't have asked.

"McDonald's!"

"Pancakes!"

Francis frowned, twisting his face into a grimace as he tried to come up with a compromise. He was pretty sure that Arthur wouldn't be pleased with him if he took the boys out for fast food that didn't contain any semblance of some nutritional value. "How about pizza instead? I know a nice place where it is freshly made," he suggested, hoping he wouldn't have to press the issue any further.

Fortunately, both boys agreed without complaint, cheering over the small victory before Francis sent them upstairs to clean up and get ready to leave.

Feeling a little weary after all of his hard work at keeping the twin's satisfied, Francis made sure everything in the kitchen was back in its rightful place before heading back upstairs to make sure that the twins weren't making a mess in their rooms. By the time they were dressed in appropriate attire and had tied their shoes, the cookies had finished baking. Francis took them out of the oven in a single, smooth movement, setting them on the counter as the boys complained about how the man was torturing them with the deliciously sweet scent that was wafting through the house.

However, they were soon on their way to the pizzeria, walking through the mild breeze of the late afternoon. The boys walked ahead of Francis, chatting animatedly and roughhousing occasionally as they made their way through the peace of the neighborhood.

The pizzeria itself was very quaint and homely, making it ultimately difficult to keep two restless boys in their seats as they waited for their pizza to be prepared. They squirmed in their chairs and tried to outmatch each other's level of hunger every few minutes.

"I'm so hungry I could eat a horse," Matthew told Alfred sadly as he observed the other people dining at adjacent tables.

"I'm so hungry I could eat the moon!" Alfred retorted, kicking his feet out beneath the table and momentarily wrestling legs with Matthew until Francis had scolded them lightly for being impatient.

Trying to be reassuring, the man gave both boys an earnest look. "It'll be here any minute."

"When is Arthur coming home?" Alfred asked as he played with his napkin, folding the edges and failing at any attempts at origami.

"In a few hours," Francis informed, feigning an offended attitude. "What? You don't like spending time with _moi_?"

Alfred giggled, shaking his head in negation. "No, you're a lot of fun, I just miss Arthur."

"I'm sure he misses you both as well. He never stops talking about you two," Francis revealed, taking a sip of the coffee that he had ordered to wake him up a little after all of day's adventures. "You have changed him for the better."

Matthew furrowed his eyebrows. "Changed him?"

"_Oui_, he is not as lonely and miserable as he used to be," Francis said with a hint of playfulness, shoulders sagging with relief once he saw a waiter bringing them their pizza. Immediately, the boys each grabbed a slice and transferred it to their plates, burning their tongues upon realizing that the food was still piping hot.

"Why does it have to be so hot?" Matthew queried rhetorically while fanning his tongue and taking a sip of his apple juice.

Francis smirked, taking another swig of coffee as the boys lamented over the hot pizza and blew air on it in an attempt to cool it faster. After a few minutes, they had finally both dug in, humming contentedly as they ate and satisfied their appetites.

The boys made good company even for the coldest of hearts, and now Francis completely understood why Arthur found it so important to shelter them from harm and to shower them with spoils that they had been denied. He vaguely recalled how Arthur had once told him that the boy's mother had passed away of ovarian cancer. Apparently, Arthur had come across the information while applying to adopt the boys.

Ovarian cancer was as terrible and ruthless of a diagnosis as one could get. Often undetected until spreading to the pelvis and abdomen, it was almost always fatal. The five-year survival rate for epithelial ovarian cancer was a measly eighteen percent.

Francis could only imagine how traumatic this must've been on the entire family. Patients didn't normally live past the five-year mark after being diagnosed. It developed at an alarmingly fast rate, and there wasn't much that could be done to halt the progress. If he had been married and had watched his wife pass away in such an unforgiving manner, he probably would've turned to drugs and alcohol to medicate his grief as well.

So, perhaps it was for the best that the boys had found a new home. Though the circumstances were tragic, he doubted the boys' father would ever be able to fully recover from such a loss, and he was certainly incapable of looking after the twins from what Arthur had relayed to him.

"Alfred, aren't you going to eat your pizza?" Matthew asked his brother, shaking Francis out of his thoughts. "It's really good!"

"I'm not that hungry anymore."

Francis broke into the conversation, eyes disbelieving as he scanned the child's form carefully. "What are you talking about? You were complaining about being hungry for hours! Do you not like the food?"

Alfred shook his head, looking a little pale and worse for wear. "No, I just don't feel so good."

"What do you mean? What's wrong?" Francis investigated, panic growing as he realized that Arthur was going to kill him if he came home to find a single hair out of place on either boy's head.

"I feel sick."

Francis glowered, heart thumping in his chest as he reached out a hand to feel Alfred's forehead. He was so dead. "You do feel a little warm. Maybe you're coming down with something. One of your classmates may have shared a virus with you."

"But I didn't go to school today; it's Saturday."

"_Oui_, but it takes up to forty-eight to get symptoms sometimes," Francis explained, taking hold of Alfred's chin and turning his head to face him. He peered into his eyes, noting how there were a little glassier than they should've been. "I'm taking you both home as soon as you're finished. Try to eat a little, okay? You need your energy."

Alfred nodded pitifully, taking a painful bite of pizza and swallowing it despite the nauseous feeling in his stomach.

Francis only hoped it wasn't too serious.

* * *

The shrill beeping of the heart monitor was drilling into his very skull, driving him more and more insane with each passing second as he injected his patient with an anti-arrhythmic medication to regulate his heartbeat.

The patient just wasn't responding as well as he'd hoped after administering the antibiotics and keeping him on the ventilator. The fever was spiking and he was tachycardic due to all of the stress his heart was being put under.

And, Arthur had to admit that he'd be lying if he'd claimed that he hadn't seen this coming. An immunocompromised, seventy-eight-year-old person with pneumonia was lucky to have made it this far. Nevertheless, Arthur wished he could do more to keep his heart going. If he could just maintain his heartbeat, then the man might be able to make it through.

But the process was draining for both the doctor and the patient. Arthur found himself constantly ordering more medication because as soon as one organ started doing better, the others began failing in its place. At one point, he wondered whether he should just slow down and stop because a pestering thought kept telling him that there was nothing else that could be done. Nearly at the end of his shift, Arthur felt as if he had done more harm than good by trying to keep the man alive. It was obvious that even a recovery from something like this would be arduous for the man, but he refused to give up before doing everything in his power to help.

Nearly an hour later, the tachycardia was getting out of hand again, and before Arthur could even order a nurse to inject another beta blocker, the man's heart-rate began plummeting as quickly as it had risen, causing the machine to stutter in its loud shrieking again.

The nurse immediately called a code red for cardiac arrest, and Arthur sped back to the room, doing his best to resuscitate the man whom he refused to give up on. He injected him with epinephrine first, hoping to keep his blood circulating before setting up the defibrillator to deliver a shock of electricity to the man's heart.

He briefly registered another doctor standing by as well as two nurses while he continued the defibrillation, searching for any sign of response or life from his patient. The shrieking of the heart monitor continued to hammer against his eardrums as the doctor that had joined them injected more anti-arrhythmic medication in a last attempt to get the man's heart going again.

And then, he felt one of the nurses place a steady hand on his shoulder. "Time of death, six forty-seven P.M."

Arthur released a shuddering breath, stepping aside as the doctor opposite took over and turned off the defibrillator.

He'd lost three patients in his entire practice, and each time was worse than the previous one. It was always difficult to accept, and Arthur couldn't help but feel that there must've been something else he could've done—some way to have made things better.

There had to have been a way to have saved his patient.

But he hadn't known how.

And the very thought of his incompetence seemed to rip him apart inside.

* * *

"_Oui, _Mathieu, that looks very nice," Francis complimented as he watched Matthew dust some sprinkles over the frosting-covered cookies. "Is that one for Alfred?" he asked, remembering the dinosaur that Alfred had been flaunting earlier in the day.

"Yes, maybe it'll make him feel better," Matthew whispered, feeling remorseful after witnessing how miserable his brother had been feeling upon returning home. "Can I make him a 'get well' card too?"

"I'm sure he'd like that very much, _mon lapin_."

The sound of the door being unlocked startled them both out of their little bonding time in the kitchen, and Francis instantly got up to greet Arthur, instantly noting the man's slumped shoulders and ragged appearance as he stepped across the threshold.

"What happened to you, Arthur?" he asked, offering to take the man's briefcase as Arthur confusedly surveyed the house.

The green eyes frantically turned toward the stairs, expression flustered as he finally turned to face Francis. "It's quiet," he mouthed. "Too quiet. Where are the boys?"

"Mathieu is in the kitchen helping me decorate cookies, and Alfred is sleeping in his room."

Arthur nodded wearily, too tired to ask about the cookies until he registered the other half of the statement. "Alfred's sleeping?" Stealing a glance at his watch, his bewildered expression rose to meet Francis once more. "It's too early for Alfred to have willingly gone to bed."

"He's a bit ill," Francis said gingerly, inviting Arthur to sit on the couch. "He's sleeping off a bit of a cold that he probably caught in school."

"A cold?"

"_Oui_, a cold. You know, a common illness in children of his age. He'll be fine with some rest. I gave him some Motrin for the fever," Francis reassured, still trying to figure out why Arthur was acting so aloof.

"A fever? Why didn't you call me?" Arthur muttered under his breath, stepping into the kitchen and catching sight of Matthew accessorizing cookies just as Francis had claimed.

Matthew smiled upon catching the man's eye, waving to his guardian. "Hi, Arthur! We made cookies!"

"I can see that," Arthur said softly, placing a tender hand on the boy's head. "Why don't you wash up and get ready for bed, okay? I need to have a word with Francis."

Matthew nodded and abandoned the cookies, giving Francis a quick hug goodbye before exiting the kitchen and bounding up the stairs.

"You should've called me," Arthur reiterated once the boy was out of earshot. "Damn it, Francis! I thought I made that clear before you even arrived! If there's something wrong with one of the boys, I need to know!" he shouted, tone growing fierce and more frustrated with each passing minute.

Francis frowned grimly, placing a hand on Arthur's back. "Relax, Arthur. He is safe and resting in bed. I didn't want to bother you while you were at work because it wasn't an emergency. Besides, there was nothing you could do."

"What do you mean 'nothing I could do'? I'm their guardian! I'm supposed to go to court in five months and finalize the adoption, but I can't do that if they don't get the proper care that they require! They are my responsibility, and you might not take that seriously, but I damn well do!"

"Arthur, please lower your voice," Francis beseeched, trying to be sympathetic. "Alfred is trying to rest. I can only imagine the day at work you had, and obviously something is bothering you, so why don't you sit down and I'll make us some tea? Tell me what happened."

Arthur sighed heavily once more, eyes burning as he ran a clammy hand through his hair and plopped into a chair by the table in surrender. "I'm sorry," he whispered solemnly. "You're right. I've just had a rather horrid day. A patient of mine passed away."

It was Francis' turn to sigh, and he nodded empathetically, hastily making a cup of tea out of the hot water that he had boiled not long ago and placing it in front of Arthur along with one of the cookies that he and the boys had made.

"You can have as many as you like, but the dinosaurs are reserved for Alfred," Francis told the other man with a wry smile before taking a seat opposite him. "I'm sorry for the loss. I know how difficult it can be."

Arthur nodded, taking one of the sugary cookies and biting into it in the hopes that it would raise his serotonin levels and make him feel a little better. "He was an elderly fellow who had come down with pneumonia. He didn't have a family… I wish I could've done more."

Francis took Arthur's hand and squeezed it tightly in reassurance with a mournful expression in his eyes. "It'll be okay. I'm sure you did everything you possibly could."

Arthur took a long gulp of tea, eyes still stinging with emotion. "Well, it's all in the past now. Thank you for looking after the boys today. I may not like to willingly accept your help of all people, but that doesn't mean I'm not grateful. I hope they weren't too much of a handful."

"Of course not. They are very _mignon _boys. Alfred loves telling stories and Mathieu is quiet but kind in his own way."

"Yes, I'm a bit worried about Matthew. He's having trouble coping and making friends. I'm afraid I'll have to find him a counselor or therapist to talk to, seeing as I'm not able to provide all of the help that he needs," Arthur said, expressing his concerns as he finished off the cookie and the accompanying tea. "I imagine that they're both going through a lot more than they'd like to admit. I just wish they'd open up to me more."

Francis took Arthur's empty cup of tea away, bringing it over to the sink. "Give them some time," he recommended. "Anyway, I have to get home. I gave Alfred the Motrin two hours ago, so you may want to give him some more later."

"All right, I'd better check up on him. Thanks again."

Francis smiled charmingly, picking up his belongings and shrugging into his coat. "Anything for you, _mon cher_."

"Oh, don't start."

Becoming serious, Francis nodded, walking with Arthur to the front door as the two parted ways. "If you ever need any help, call me. You don't have to do this all alone."

"Right," Arthur murmured uncertainly, bidding the man farewell and shutting the door.

And with that, he made his way upstairs and made sure Matthew was all settled for bed before traversing over to Alfred's room and heading inside without hesitation. He scooted onto the child's bed and felt the shivering boy's forehead, sighing with relief upon finding that the fever wasn't too serious.

With a bleary eyed smile, Alfred looked up at Arthur, trapping him in a hug. "I missed you," he said hoarsely, a small cough escaping him.

"And I missed you, love," Arthur replied with his own strained smile, pushing the boy's hair off of his sweaty forehead and coaxing him back to sleep. "Just rest and hopefully you'll feel better in the morning, yeah?"

Alfred nodded against his chest, snuggling into the man as he ached for affection.

Arthur watched as Alfred slowly dozed off again, head lolling to the side. Suddenly, he was overcome with an extreme protectiveness toward the boy, and he pulled him close, feeling a few tears leak out of his eyes as he made the decision to stay up and monitor the fever.

"Don't fret, Alfred. I'll be right here. Don't you fret."


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note: It's a three-day weekend! :D I'm ecstatic that I finally get to do some writing. Enjoy the chapter, and hopefully I'll be able to update soon!**

* * *

"Mmurgh…"

The little groan was enough to rouse Arthur, whose hand instantly reached for the second occupant of the bed, palming the boy's clammy forehead as he cooed soothing words to the semiconscious child. He pushed back the ash blonde hair, trying to come up with a good estimate for the boy's temperature without the use of a thermometer.

Overall, the night had passed rather peacefully except for the one occasion during which Alfred's fever had spiked momentarily. Arthur had treated the dilemma with some fever reducers that seemed to do the job, allowing the child reprieve from the chills and headache that had been previously obstructing his ability to get some sleep. After that, things had remained relatively under control.

"It'll be all right, lad," Arthur repeated quietly into the dimly lit room, retracting his hand as he deemed the fever as low-grade. The sun was just beginning to peek its way above the horizon as he ran a calming hand across the boy's cheeks, monitoring the heat that was concentrated there.

Alfred mumbled unintelligibly again before taking up a bout of thrashing, flailing his legs for a short span of time before rousing himself with a panicked lethargy. His feverish eyes turned to Arthur, perplexed to see him by his side as he glanced at the time on the digital clock by his bedside.

"Arthur? You're not working today?"

The man shook his head firmly. "No, I called in sick so that I could stay home and watch over you," he explained softly, snugly tucking a blanket around his charge. "Go back to sleep; I want you to get as much rest as possible."

Alfred frowned, sniffling due to his runny nose. "But I thought Francis was coming over again."

"Yes, but I'm here right now, so there's no need for a babysitter. Regardless, you shouldn't be worrying about such things," Arthur assured, persuading the child to shut his eyes and continue dozing. "I'll be staying here with you until you're feeling better."

A ghost of a smile appeared on Alfred's face, making him seem at least a decade older than he actually was. "You don't have to."

"I want to—it'll ease my nerves. Now, sleep, silly boy, and stop pestering me with your questions."

Alfred let out a scratchy sneeze, rubbing his eyes with a fist before sniffling through the congestion again, eyes slightly watery. "I can't sleep anymore. I don't feel good."

"It's 'well'—as in 'I don't feel well'," Arthur sighed, motioning the boy to sit up before running his probing hands over the boy's face, seemingly searching for something. Then, he placed the pads of his thumbs on the child's cheekbones, pressing down with a bit of added pressure.

This elicited a cry of pain from the boy, who cowered away from the man and glared at him mournfully. "What was that for?"

Arthur glowered, extracting himself from the cramped bed before passing Alfred a few tissues. "I was simply confirming my diagnosis; you have acute sinusitis, that's why the skin below your eyes is tender. Normally, it's viral and doesn't have to be treated with antibiotics, so you're just going to have to let it run its course. Now, blow your nose. It's best not to let all the congestion build up, or it could prolong the illness."

Alfred grudgingly accepted the tissues with a grimace, his head and face feeling as though it were stuffed with cotton before he made a feeble attempt at blowing his nose. When he was done, he sniffled again, a dry cough escaping him. "How long will it take for it to go away?"

Arthur hummed to himself in thought, casting the boy his usual calculating look; an investigation was in order. He left the room for a minute and crossed the distance to his own bedroom before returning with his briefcase. Rummaging around in it, he withdrew his trusty stethoscope, beckoning Alfred over before listening to his heart and lungs.

When he was satisfied, he took out his penlight. "Follow my finger with your eyes," he instructed, shining the light into the boy's eyes and moving his finger across his field of vision.

"What are you doing?" Alfred muttered, wishing he could understand what was going through the man's mind. He was always so cryptic whenever he was examining someone. "The light is making my eyes water!"

Arthur huffed, turning off the penlight. "I'm checking your pupils."

"Well, leave my pupils alone!" Alfred replied gruffly, crossing his arms. "What are pupils, anyway?"

"The little black dots in the center of your eyes," Arthur elaborated absently, his mind clearly still focused on coming up with a detailed diagnosis. "Doctors check that they are equal in size, round, and react to light. If they don't meet this criteria, then that could signify a concussion or brain damage."

"But I don't have brain damage!"

Arthur smirked, a sly look fleeting across his own green eyes. "You roughhouse with Matthew all the time, so as far as we know, your brain cells could be dying as we speak."

"Really?" Alfred queried frightfully, tone growing more high-pitched.

"No," Arthur responded with a mocking chuckle, quite amused. "It's just standard procedure, so I assure you that there is nothing wrong with your brain… Not yet anyway. Besides, I was also checking to see if your eyes were glassy from the fever, which they are."

"You can tell all of that just by flashing light into someone's eye? That's so cool! Being a doctor sounds like the best job ever!" Alfred decided excitedly, bouncing on the bed. "What else can you tell?"

Arthur rolled his eyes, patting the boy's head. "Settle down there, my little Hodgkin."

"Hodgkin?"

"He was a famous pathologist," Arthur informed with a wry expression. "What I'm dying to know is why you're suddenly so interested in medicine. Who was the one who claimed that all doctors were evil men and women whose goal was to torture little children such as yourself? I could've sworn you hated all medical practitioners just a few months ago."

Alfred smiled faultlessly, shrugging his shoulders. "I never said that!"

Arthur raised a brow, switching on the penlight again. "And now you're turning into a compulsive liar as well? I suppose we'll have to remedy that too. Now, hold still for a moment."

"Wait! What are you going to do? You have to tell me so that I can become a doctor someday too," Alfred insisted, leaning back and away from his guardian as he compromised with him.

Arthur grumbled under his breath unhappily as the boy distracted him from his work. "Curiosity killed the cat, my boy, but if you must know, I'm going to examine your nasal secretions and the color of your nasal passages. Normally, I'd use an otoscope, but the hospital provides them for me which means I don't have my own that I can use at home. Nonetheless, I'll have to work with the resources that I have. Now, could you please _stop_ bouncing?"

"You get to look at people's boogers?" Alfred asked, finally sitting still as his feverish body grew dizzy from the constant movement.

Arthur winced, rubbing a hand across his face in irritation. "I wouldn't have stated it in such a way, but essentially, yes. It gives me a better idea of the type of virus or infection that you have."

"I'm definitely becoming a doctor! Who doesn't want to look at people's boogers?"

Arthur scoffed, using a thumb again to pull Alfred's nostrils into view before shining the penlight into each one. "I would gladly opt out of it if I could."

"So?" Alfred asked once the man was done.

"So?" Arthur teased flatly, locating a digital thermometer before wiping it down with an alcohol wipe thoroughly.

"How do my boogers look?"

Arthur let out a bark of laughter, unable to contain himself as he shook his head in incredulity. He shook the thermometer lightly to help it dry faster. "Rather abnormal, if I do say so myself, but never fear—I've seen far worse. If it makes you feel any better, they look normal for someone with a cold virus. Now, quit your yapping and let me properly take your temperature."

Alfred scowled, looking a little peeved, but allowed Arthur to insert the thermometer under his tongue without any protesting on his part. The reading was finished a few seconds later, and Arthur took back the device, holding it up and frowning at it before disinfecting it once more.

"Your temperature has gone up a bit since you first woke up. I'll give you another fever reducer after you've had some breakfast. Ideally, you should get a few more hours of sleep, but you seem to be rather content with disobeying what's best for you today," Arthur criticized, finally putting the thermometer back in its case. "Open your mouth, so I can have a look at your tonsils."

Alfred followed the instruction, watching as Arthur produced a tongue depressor from the pile of resources in his briefcase. The penlight was brought back one last time as Arthur laid the tongue depressor on Alfred's tongue and squinted at the back of the child's throat. "Say 'ahh'."

Alfred shot Arthur a skeptical look before attempting to talk around the tongue depressor with his gaping mouth, causing his voice to sound quite muffled and nasally. "Why?"

"Because I said so. You're full of questions, aren't you?"

Testily, the boy uttered a quiet 'ahh' that was just barely audible.

Arthur let out a frustrated growl, eyes narrowing at Alfred. "I can't see anything like this! If you don't do as I say, then I won't be able to see the back of your throat. Now, say 'ahh' like a normal human being, if you'd please."

Alfred giggled, finally complying and emitting a loud "AHH" that made him sound like a dying whale, considering his hoarse voice.

"Much better," Arthur drew out, finally removing the tongue depressor and tossing it away. He also set the penlight aside before running his hands against Alfred's neck, massaging either side below the boy's jawline.

"That feels good," Alfred noted, leaning into the touch as Arthur indulged him and continued with the massaging. "Your hands are warm."

Arthur sighed again, finally pulling his hands back and having them fall to his sides. "Your lymph nodes are swollen," he told the child even though he knew the seven-year-old wouldn't understand the meaning behind the statement. "And your throat is aching, isn't it? I saw a good amount of redness and inflammation."

Alfred merely nodded, bringing his own hands up to his neck and continuing the rubbing. "It hurts to talk."

"Excellent, maybe that'll teach you to keep quiet every now and then," Arthur ground out roughly, but without any actual bite in his words. "I'm afraid the recovery time from this will take at least three to four days. Even then, you'll still be suffering from a bit of coughing and congestion if it travels down to your chest. I'm keeping you at home until further notice."

"Does that mean I can't go to school tomorrow?"

Arthur chuckled again, though a bit exasperatedly this time. "Yes, you're exempt from school for now. Congratulations—I know you're thrilled."

"But a real-life detective is coming to our class tomorrow for Career Day! I have to go!"

Well, that certainly wasn't the response that Arthur was expecting from the child. With a sympathetic look, he lifted the boy into his arms and began to carry him downstairs so that they could find him something to eat. "I'm sorry, lad, but your health is more important. I'm sure Matthew will tell you all about it."

"But I have to go!" Alfred objected, whining to express his displeasure. "Please let me go!"

Arthur willed himself not to fall for the boy's pleas, allowing them to fall on deaf ears. "I said 'no', Alfred. My answer is final. Now, stop all of this fussing. This fever is making you extremely adamant and grumpy. You'll have your breakfast and medicine, and then you'll go straight back to bed. A nap is certainly in order."

"That's not fair!" Alfred cried, struggling to break himself out of Arthur's grasp. "You can't make me!"

Deciding that a stern parental tone was needed at the moment, Arthur turned his face toward the child, eyes hard and unrelenting. "I don't want to reprimand or punish you while you're ill, Alfred, but if you refuse to behave yourself, then I'll be left with no choice."

"It's not fair! This is torture! I don't want to be a doctor anymore!"

Arthur chucked airily, his hold around Alfred tightening as he tried to brainstorm ideas for a nutritious and light breakfast. However, before he could remove any ingredients from the fridge, there was a knock at the door.

Still bedraggled and dressed in the clothes he'd slept in, Arthur approached the sound, letting the intruder come into view while tiredly balancing Alfred on his hip and with his free arm.

"Damn it, I'm sorry," he apologized as soon as he caught sight of the visitor. "I completely forgot to call you to cancel."

Francis smiled cheerfully at the cranky Alfred before turning his attention back to Arthur, a forgiving look already formulating itself on his face. "Not a problem, _mon cher_. You stayed home to take care of little Alfred?"

"I'm not little!" Alfred defended as Arthur nodded his head wearily.

Francis grinned, calmly addressing the child. "Of course not, you are a _grand homme_," his eyes then flickered to Arthur, regarding him coolly. "Do you need any help, since I am already here?"

"No, that's quite all right, and don't worry, I'll still pay you for today since it was already promised. Enjoy your day off since you're going back to work tomorrow," Arthur reassured, surprised to find himself tolerating the man. Alfred must have mentally drained him, impairing his good judgment.

"Are you sure?" Francis double-checked, a little concerned. "Taking care of an ill child can be a handful, especially when the other one is healthy."

Suddenly, something seemed to click in Arthur's mind, like a key twisting open a lock. He covered Alfred's ear that was closest to him with his free hand and let out a string of muttered curses under his breath. "I was supposed to take Matthew to meet with the children's therapist that I know from work. She has a private practice as well. I'm such a dolt for forgetting."

"Elizabeta? I know her quite well. I will take Mathieu to meet with her."

Arthur shook his head, mind already made up. "I have to be there with him. How will it look if his own guardian doesn't show up? I'll simply reschedule. I made the appointment nearly a week ago and allowed it to completely slip my mind. I wasn't even sure if I was going to take him without making Alfred attend as well, but I set it up just in case. For right now, I think I'll hold off sending Alfred for sessions while Matthew gets the attention he needs. The poor boy's been having a much harder time with all of these changes."

"Arthur," Francis began rationally, hoping to persuade the man that he'd been acquaintances with since medical school. "Elizabeta knows us both, and I'm sure she won't think any less of you if you don't come with Mathieu. I'll explain the situation to her, and I will leave her your number so that she can call you and tell you her findings. Besides, it won't do Mathieu any good if he stays in a germ-infested house all day; the last thing he needs is to get sick as well."

Battling with his thoughts for a moment prior, Arthur reluctantly agreed, deciding that it really was the best option. Besides, he wanted to get Matthew help as soon as possible, and every day that he extended the length of time to get him assistance, the risk of Matthew getting worse increased exponentially. "Thank you. If you run into any trouble, don't hesitate in bringing him home. Come in, and I'll make some tea. Matthew is still sleeping, but I'll go up to wake him in a moment."

Francis accepted the invitation inside, shutting the door behind him and following the pair into the kitchen. With feigned distress, he shot Alfred a melancholy look. "Why the long face, _mon petit_? Was Arthur being mean to you again?"

Said man sent Francis a dry look before setting Alfred down in a chair at the kitchen table. "No, Alfred is just intent on being unreasonable."

The child at fault pouted at Francis tearfully, hoping to manipulate his babysitter. "Arthur said that I can't go to school tomorrow because I'm sick, but there is a detective coming to our class tomorrow, and he's going to tell us all about catching bad guys! I _have_ to go. Tell Arthur to let me go!"

"_Je suis désolé_, Alfred, but Arthur is right—you should stay home when you are ill."

"No!" Alfred demanded, suddenly thinking about all the things that were making him feel so miserable. Working up a stream of tears took little effort, and soon his eyes were swollen and his nose was running more than it had been before.

With an aggravated noise of complaint, Arthur passed Francis a mug of tea before hoisting Alfred back into his arms and wiping his tears away gently with a few tissues. He gently rubbed the flushed nose clean before setting Alfred down on the couch in the living room to watch some television in the hopes of bolstering his melancholy spirits. "It's going to be all right, lad. We're going to have such a good time at home tomorrow that you'll completely forget about not meeting the detective."

Alfred did nothing but continue to snivel, watching languidly as Arthur trekked back to the kitchen to finish preparing the meal.

"I told you it would be a handful," Francis said in an antagonizing manner as Arthur returned to the kitchen.

"Would you like to babysit Alfred, instead?"

Francis tended to his tea, grimacing a bit at how strong it was. Arthur always made his tea as dark and bitter as possible. "I fear he would grow restless and would ask for you regardless. Speaking of which, what are you going to do with him? You've never had to deal with a sick child that was _yours_ before."

"I'm figuring it out as I go along. Would you mind waking Matthew for me? I've got my hands full with getting Alfred fed right now," Arthur asked with a wide yawn, preparing some toast and orange juice with sluggish movements.

The Frenchman couldn't suppress the jibe that was already making itself heard. With a nod, he murmured, "I didn't know you were narcoleptic."

"And I didn't know you were misophonic toward my yawning," Arthur backfired venomously, dismissing the man.

"Touché."

While the other doctor woke the sleeping twin, Arthur brought Alfred's breakfast into the living room, deciding that he would let the child eat on the couch, seeing as he was clearly feeling downright awful.

Alfred lifted his head marginally upon witnessing Arthur placing the plate on the coffee table. A second later, the boy was already complaining about what had been set in front of him. "Toast with no butter or jelly? Are you trying to kill me?"

Arthur smirked sardonically, helping Alfred sit up. "This is the diet that we doctors have been implementing for cold-ridden children such as yourself for quite some time. We like to call it the BRAT diet. It stands for bananas, rice, applesauce, and toast; it is a foolproof way of keeping your bratty stomach settled and agreeable while you're unwell. Now, eat up so you can take your medicine."

Alfred made sure to look as woebegone as possible while eating, making it seem like Arthur was the most horrible person to ever walk the earth. Thankfully, by the time he had finished, Matthew was downstairs and dressed with Francis in tow, sparing Arthur from having to be the victim of Alfred's icy looks any longer.

He greeted Matthew warmly, hastily apologizing for not being able to go with him to the therapy session. He made sure to let the boy know that all he would have to do is have a small talk with the woman for a little while and then he would be free to come home.

"I promise it won't be too bad, all right?" Arthur explained to Matthew while the twin finished his own breakfast.

The Englishman felt his heart break as the boy nodded timidly despite his hesitance toward the idea. With a reassuring smile, he placed a hand on his shoulder as the boy prepared to leave. "Francis will make sure everything goes as planned, so there's no need to worry. If at any time you want to come back home, I want you to call me. I'll be home with Alfred all day, so if you feel scared or overwhelmed, I'm just a phone-call away, okay?"

Matthew nodded his head softly, accepting a quick embrace from Arthur.

"Take care, love," the man told him, waving goodbye as Francis ushered him outside.

And then, Arthur shut the door, sweeping back into the living room as Alfred began a relentless bout of coughing.

* * *

Matthew clenched his teeth together, his hold on the pencil growing in ferocity as he stared at the picture that he'd been ordered to draw with a deep disdain.

The therapist, Elizabeta, had given him the task of completing a simple drawing. She'd claimed that he could draw anything he pleased, as long as it reflected something about his personality, leaving Matthew with a plethora of artistic freedom. The only problem—it seemed—was Matthew's insistence that he was a terrible artist, and that he didn't know what to draw.

"Don't think about it too much," Elizabeta insisted, noticing Matthew's growing frustration. "Would you like some ideas? You can draw your school, your friends or your family."

The boy shut his eyes and sighed. School? He still despised it, and it was the last thing he wanted to think about at the moment. As for friends, well, he didn't have many of those, so there went that suggestion.

And then there was his family…

The issue with that was that Matthew didn't know who his family was anymore. Sure, Alfred was still around and was a valid family member, but what about everybody else? Was Arthur his family now? He wasn't quite sure…

Uncertainly, he began drawing himself and Alfred side-by-side, hoping that would be enough to satisfy Elizabeta. However, half-way through drawing his brother, Matthew found himself getting distracted and moved on to draw his mother, placing her up by the clouds.

Was she in heaven?

He couldn't be sure.

Then, he drew his father, tall and foreboding in stature as he watched them from a distance.

Lastly, he decided to incorporate Arthur after all, placing him beside Alfred.

After labeling each of the persons appropriately, he handed the drawing back to Elizabeta, watching uncertainly as she perused the picture and gave him an exaggerated smile that he knew was only meant to make him feel welcome. "This is a wonderful drawing, Matthew. It's very artistic!"

Matthew stared at his shoes, cheeks burning as he realized that he had failed. He'd revealed too much through the drawing, and now Elizabeta was going to question him about his mother and his father, which was something that he certainly didn't want to discuss.

But, thoroughly surprising him, Elizabeta did no such thing. Instead, she asked him about Alfred, asking him how he felt about his brother and if they were very close.

"We're not as close as we used to be," he admitted carefully, testing the words in his head before speaking them. "Alfred has lots of new friends at school now, and we don't talk as much."

Elizabeta nodded in an understanding manner, setting the drawing aside on her oak desk. "And do you wish you could talk to Alfred more often?"

Matthew shrugged his shoulders, unsure of the answer as he dug the heels of his shoes into the carpet. "Everything is so different now. Alfred is happy."

"And are you happy, Matthew?"

"No," he responded before he could stop himself. He was beginning to grow nervous, feeling the pressure growing in strength on his shoulders as the woman continued her interrogation. It made him feel as if he'd done something wrong and was in trouble.

"I see… What about Arthur? Do you like him?"

He counted the number of pens in the mug on Elizabeta's desk, avoiding her gaze at every cost.

1, 2, 3, 4, 5…

"Yes, Arthur's nice. He always tries to help," he mused, as he begged for time to move faster for him. They had to be near the end of their conversation by now. "Francis says Arthur's happier now too. Everyone's so happy…"

6, 7, 8, 9, 10…

He bit his bottom lip until it hurt, urging himself to be quiet, but failing. A mumble escaped him, and he wondered if Elizabeta caught onto what he was saying. "Why is everyone so happy?"

11, 12, 13, 14, 15…

"I think our time is up for today, Matthew," Elizabeta finally announced as nonchalantly as ever. "It was a pleasure meeting you. You're a fantastic young man."

Matthew stood up from the chair swiftly, abandoning his counting. He followed Elizabeta back out into the waiting room, eyes burning as he caught sight of Francis reading a magazine and hurried over to him.

"All done?" Francis asked with a small smile, patting Matthew's head.

Elizabeta nodded, plastering a smile on her own face as well. "Yes, we had a nice chat, and I'd like to see Matthew at the same time next week, if that's all right. Have Arthur contact me and confirm the appointment, but before you go, I was wondering if I could have a quick word with you, Francis."

"_Oui_," Francis agreed, stretching his legs and following Elizabeta back into her office. "We'll just be a minute, Mathieu. Stay put."

Matthew frowned as the pair disappeared beyond the door, dropping himself into a lone chair as the secretary clicked away on the keyboard of her computer a few meters away.

They were talking about him, surely.

There was something wrong with him; there had to be. That's why he'd been sent here and not Alfred.

And Arthur knew that there was something wrong with him…

He let his head fall into his hands, willing himself to toughen up and not to cry. He was sure that there was a normal explanation as to why Arthur thought it was necessary for him to see a therapist. Maybe Elizabeta had just concluded that he was perfectly healthy and of sound mind.

Then why did she want to see him again?

He hugged Kumajirou to his chest, trembling from the effort of having to contain his tears and sobs.

No wonder he couldn't make any friends.

Who'd want to be friends with such a socially awkward mess?

And who could ever be happy with being put in such a position?


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note: What would I do without weekends? x) Enjoy!**

* * *

"Alfred, I don't hear you gargling," Arthur droned as he leaned against the wall just outside of the doorway of the bathroom. "I can assure you that you won't be happy if I have to come in to assist you."

"All right, hang on!" Alfred groaned, sneering at the plastic cup resting on the edge of the sink. "Do I really have to do this?"

"Yes, gargling with warm salt water will ease your sore throat."

The seven-year-old scrunched his face into a pained grimace, poking a finger into the salty liquid. "But it's gross!"

"No, what's 'gross' are the complications of untreated tonsillitis, so do as I say."

Alfred grumbled some unfavorable insults that were meant to be directed at his guardian under his breath before picking up the dreaded cup and gathering a mouthful of the salt water. Tossing his head back, he gargled as Arthur had instructed, trying to get the job done as quickly as possible so that he could spit the nausea-inducing water into the sink. After he'd made use of the entire contents of the cup, he trudged out of the bathroom once more, glaring at Arthur forlornly for tormenting him.

His guardian only tutted, a sad little smile on his face as he petted Alfred's head, smoothing out any stray hairs. "It wasn't so bad," he assured. "It was either that or drinking warm lemon juice, but I'm sure this was the lesser evil."

"It still wasn't fun," Alfred lamented, baby blue eyes gloomily staring back at Arthur. "I hate being sick."

Arthur gave the boy a sympathetic nod. "And I hate seeing you sick. Now, how about you find us a good movie to watch in the living room while I find out where in the world your brother and Francis have gone off too? They were supposed to be back a little over an hour ago."

"Okay," Alfred agreed, a little less brokenhearted at the prospect of watching a film. "Arthur? Is Mattie going to be all right?"

Arthur sent the boy a steadfast look, not at all surprised by the question as he crouched down to make direct eye contact with the child. "Matthew is going through a difficult time right now, so we need to be as understanding and supportive as possible. In due time, I think everything will be a little easier for all of us. After all, time heals all wounds, yes?"

Alfred sulked, clearly not satisfied. "I haven't been a good brother; I didn't protect Mattie and now he's sad."

Arthur shook his head, pulling Alfred close and resting the still fevered forehead against his shoulder. "No, lad, this isn't your fault. You've been a very good brother, and incredibly courageous for the both of you. However, I'm afraid that this is something that Matthew has to come to terms with on his own, and we can only try to guide him in the right direction."

Alfred sighed, shuddering slightly from a bout of chills. "I tried to get Mattie to meet with my friends in school and play with us, but he only talks to me and doesn't like talking with anyone else," he explained weakly, pressing his face more firmly into Arthur's cool shirt to quench the heat lingering beneath his skin. "I don't want him to be lonely and sad. He's my best friend."

"I know, and I'll get this sorted out," Arthur promised, rubbing gentle circles on Alfred's back, "but I need you to look out for your brother just as you always do, okay? I don't expect you to start slacking off on the job now."

Alfred nodded with a miniscule smile, a determined expression forming in his eyes. "I'll keep him safe! Don't worry!"

"I'm not worried—I know you won't let me down," Arthur fondly murmured against the boy's head of hair. "So, go and pick out that movie. I'll join you in a minute; I just have to make a quick phone call. I expect to see you resting on the couch by the time I return."

Alfred nodded once more and scrambled down the stairs, leaving Arthur alone with his thoughts as he meandered down the hallway and into his bedroom to retrieve his cellphone. Hesitating for just a second, he finally selected the number that he was looking for in his list of contacts, waiting impatiently for the person on the other line to pick up.

"_Allô?_"

"Where are you?" Arthur hissed, temper getting out of hand as his anxiety skyrocketed. "Is Matthew all right?"

Francis clicked his tongue, a little offended by Arthur's lack of trust toward him. "_Oui_, we are on our way back now, you mother hen. Is it past our bedtime?"

"Listen here, you frog. Matthew is—"

"Yes, yes, I _know_," Francis emphasized heatedly. "He is your 'responsibility and obligation'. We took a refreshing walk and discussed a few things after the appointment. Is that a crime?"

Arthur bit his tongue to keep himself from saying something that he might later regret. "No, that's fine, but I'd appreciate it if you could at least _inform _me of these things so that I'm not compelled to conjure up worst case scenarios as to what might have happened."

"We'll be there in five minutes."

"Fine," Arthur griped into the phone unpleasantly. "See you then."

He journeyed back downstairs only to find Alfred peacefully asleep against the armrest of the couch, curled up into a ball with the DVD he had selected lying on the coffee table. The sight was quite endearing, and Arthur spared a moment to take in the scene, pleased to see that after an entire day of being a stubborn grump, Alfred had finally given into the invitation of some much needed sleep.

Honestly, he'd been trying to get the boy to take a nap since breakfast, and now, with dinnertime approaching, the child had run himself ragged. He bent down to carefully lift him up, seeing as he would be much more comfortable resting in bed. Hefting him up into his arms, he carried him up the steps and into his designated bedroom, tucking him in nice and tight before turning to leave the room.

The boy shifted restlessly for a moment, and Arthur worried he might wake up, but he soon settled down once more, head drooping back onto the pillows in a sleepy surrender.

Arthur smiled mildly, shutting the door halfway before registering the knock on the front door, signifying Matthew and Francis' return. He hurried to answer it, relieved to see Matthew in one piece as he entered the foyer with Kumajirou still in his arms. Francis lagged behind him, but did not follow the boy inside, choosing to remain within the safety of the setting sun.

Ignoring the strange behavior for the time being, Arthur greeted Matthew, wrapping him in a tender hug. "Welcome back, love. How was your day?"

Matthew shrunk back from Arthur, warily looking back at the pair of adults before handing Arthur a plastic shopping bag that he'd been carrying around.

"And what's this?" Arthur asked curiously, a rehearsed smile strewn across his face as he sifted through the contents of the bag. He withdrew a furry teddy bear and a cheerful looking card with a smiling sun on the front cover.

"Mathieu thought it would be nice to purchase a get well card and a new toy for Alfred since he was so upset this morning," Francis supplied from his position by the door.

Arthur's smile grew more genuine, eyes wrinkling with happiness. "How thoughtful! I'm sure Alfred will love your gift, Matthew. He's been fairly downtrodden since he can't be present for Career Day at school tomorrow," he remarked, taking the bag from him. "You can bring it up to Alfred when he wakes up from his nap, all right? Until then, you can help me set the table for dinner."

Matthew nodded wordlessly and waved goodbye to Francis, already bounding into the kitchen by the time the two adults finally addressed each other.

"It's a good thing you have Mathieu to keep you from burning the house down whenever you cook dinner," the Frenchman joked lightheartedly, hoping to break the chilling stillness of the conversation.

Arthur scowled, hanging the bag of gifts on a hook by the door. "Excuse me for not priding myself in being some sort of culinary mastermind; I do what I can with what I have, and now that that boys are around, I can't just order take-out every day. They need some sort of semblance of a home-cooked meal. Now, why am I under the impression that you are about to cause me great grief?" he murmured angrily, gripping the doorknob out of anticipation.

Francis glowered, pulling out a folded piece of paper out of the pocket of his jacket and passing it over to the man. "Elizabeta said to call her and schedule a follow-up—that's all she told me before suggesting that I take Mathieu out for the day," he paused, flickering his gaze down to the paper. "She also gave me that drawing. I don't know what it means, but I'm sure she'll decipher it for you. Goodnight, Arthur."

Arthur unfolded the picture, taking a quick glimpse at it before catching Francis in his retreat. "Wait! Why are you in such a hurry?"

"I have to prepare for work tomorrow," he responded hastily, already half-way down the driveway. He gave a sloppy wave, disappearing out of sight before Arthur could question him any further.

"But I still have to pay you!"

Arthur shut the door with a frustrated frown, tucking the drawing into his back pocket before joining Matthew in the kitchen, who had already begun setting up three spots at the table. Bright-eyed and intent on making the boy feel loved and appreciated, he sauntered in with the most jovial lilt he could manage.

"Thank you, Matthew, you're being very helpful and considerate today," he praised, the skin around his frazzled eyes wrinkling slightly as he smiled. "However, I wouldn't bother setting up three plates, seeing as Alfred is most likely going to have his meal in bed; it's just going to be the two of us tonight."

"Okay," Matthew whispered, retrieving a pair of silverware and returning it to its rightful place. He avoided Arthur's gaze, feigning extreme focus in completing the task at hand.

Arthur approached the fridge and pulled out the leftover chicken and vegetables, warming them up on the stove. He turned on the front burner and took a seat by the table as he waited, watching Matthew select two glasses before placing them with their corresponding plates.

Venturing an attempt at conversation, Arthur braced himself for the uncomfortable air that was sure to follow if he failed. "Do you want to talk about what happened with Elizabeta today?"

There was a second of stifling silence, and then the response finally came, "No."

Arthur tried again because he wasn't going to allow himself to give up this time. He had to get the boy to open up to him. He was just a bundle of packed emotions, and Arthur longed to see a smile or a tear, anything that might signify that the boy was allowing himself to _feel_.

"I know this must be very confusing for you, so if you ever have any questions as to why you're meeting with Elizabeta, you're welcome to come to me to discuss it," he reassured, sitting up in his chair. "Everything is tentative, Matthew. You don't have to do anything that you don't feel comfortable doing. Do you understand?"

Arthur noted the constriction of the boy's pupils, realizing how skeptical and on edge Matthew had become—it was as though he feared that someone was out to get him.

"You saw the picture?"

The man sighed, understanding that he'd been caught, and that Matthew was far too inquisitive to not question his motives. He pulled the drawing out of his pocket and laid it on the table wearily. "I glanced at it," he revealed, almost ashamed of himself. "It was necessary for me to know, Matthew."

"Have you talked to her yet?"

Arthur furrowed, struggling to find a good way of explaining himself. "Elizabeta? No, not yet. I'll call her in the morning." He debated elaborating, but decided to withhold any more words of consolation for now.

"Why am I—?" Matthew stopped himself, pressing Kumajirou roughly against his chest. "Do you think there's something wrong with me?"

"Oh, love," Arthur murmured, standing up out of his seat and opening his arms like a book for Matthew to approach him. "Of course there's nothing wrong with you, silly child. You're perfect just the way you are. However, you're having trouble making friends at school, and you simply won't talk to me or come to me for help. I thought sending you to Elizabeta would give you a chance to talk to someone else that you might be more willing to explain your feelings to."

"B-But I don't want to talk to her," Matthew stuttered, tripping over his words as he stepped away from Arthur's still open arms. "She probably… she thinks…"

"Matthew, there's nothing 'wrong' with you. I just want you to be happy, and being on your own all of the time isn't healthy. You need to be more sociable and try to adapt to all of these changes. I know it's a lot to ask of you but—"

"I'm trying!" Matthew argued, raising his voice. "None of the other kids are new except for Alfred, and he's made a lot of friends, but I don't want him to have to help _me_ make friends! I can make my own friends! And—I can run as fast and as far as everyone else, but they all stare at me when I carry my inhaler to class! They all think I'm weird, and I must be because I keep thinking about Mom, but she's never coming back because she's dead! And I'll be dead soon, and so will everybody else, so why should I make any friends if they're all going to disappear someday anyway?" he panted heavily, face swollen and red while tears rolled mercilessly from his eyes. "It's all so stupid!" he cried with an abject sob, rubbing his hands across his face as he snatched the drawing off the table and tore it in half, finding some relief at the sound of the paper's destruction.

Meanwhile, Arthur merely took a step closer, taking hold of Matthew's hand to pull him into proximity.

"No!" Matthew shouted with a flail, ripping himself away from Arthur's hold and accidentally hitting his opposite hand against the steaming pot of vegetables as he thrashed again, instantly registering the stinging and burning pain that nestled itself against his aching skin. He dropped the two halves of the drawing and Kumajirou, eyes filling with more tears as he cradled his hand in the uninjured one.

Eyes filling with alarm, Arthur picked Matthew up off the ground and rushed him to the sink, running the burnt hand under some cold water. "Hold still, it'll be just fine, lad," he soothed, taking the opportunity to wet a dishtowel and wipe the boy's face clean of tears. "Just keep your hand under the water for a few minutes."

"I'm sorry," Matthew mumbled against Arthur's shoulder a few moments later.

Arthur frowned, turning off the running water and drying Matthew's hand with another towel. "Whatever for?"

"For making you worry."

Arthur smiled softly, bringing Matthew over to the freezer to find an icepack before wrapping it in the washcloth and laying it against the mildly reddened hand. "If I don't worry, then who will? You have nothing to be sorry for, lad," he replied gently. "How does your hand feel?"

"Better," Matthew mumbled, feeling much more relaxed after the previous episode.

Arthur nodded, retracting the icepack to survey the damage. "It doesn't look like it's going to blister. It might just feel a little sore for a few hours," he informed, turning off the burner on the vegetables and setting Matthew down in a chair. He returned Kumajirou to him and gathered the mangled drawing before setting it aside on the counter in thought.

"Before we have dinner, let's have quick chat," he then decided, taking a seat across from Matthew. It was time for a good lecture. "You're going to live a long and healthy life if it's the last thing I do, Matthew, so you musn't dwell on such things. Besides, I'm sure your mother would be very upset if she knew that you refused to be happy and live life because she's gone. She would want you to find happiness despite all of the misfortunes that you've been presented with—that, my boy, would make her very proud, don't you agree?"

Matthew nodded uncertainly, toying with Kumajirou's paw. "I guess so…"

Arthur pursed his lips and reached across the table to rub Matthew's arm. "She'll always be with you, lad. I know how difficult it can be sometimes…"

"What happened to your family, Arthur?"

The man startled, taken aback by the question after realizing that he couldn't ever recall a time when he had mentioned his family to either of the boys. It was only natural that they would eventually grow curious. "My parents passed away when I was at a rather young age. I was only a teenager when my father died of emphysema, so my brothers and my mother raised me after that. My mother passed away shortly after I moved to America; she'd had a relatively unpredictable heart condition. Back then, it was rather common to avoid seeing a doctor unless it was an emergency, so a lot of chronic illnesses when undiagnosed and untreated."

"Oh," Matthew quietly said, looking quite apologetic. "I'm sorry. How did they get sick?"

"It's all right," Arthur murmured, meeting Matthew's inquiring gaze. "My father was a heavy smoker, and my mother—well, heart disease was most likely genetically dominant on her side of the family."

Matthew nodded sympathetically, eyes sorrowful. "Mommy died of cancer."

"I know, love," Arthur sighed, standing from his seat and finally serving the food that had long since been properly heated up. "I was informed of it during the adoption process. It's a terrible tragedy, no doubt."

"I feel better now," Matthew said genuinely, eyes looking much less aloof. Who would've thought that communication could be so healing? He caught the man's smile and felt joy fill him as well, until he saw something flash by his peripheral vision. He turned his head to the doorway, tilting his head to the side as he tried to figure out whether he had just been imagining things.

Arthur, on the other hand, whose attention to detail had been skillfully honed over time, rolled his eyes lazily. "Matthew, I'm afraid our conversation is no longer private," he announced without a single glance at the doorway, casually going about his way. He would give the culprit a chance to escape.

Still flustered, Matthew watched as Arthur served him a helping of chicken and vegetables on his plate before a stern look crossed his face and the man finally regarded the intruder, finding no other option.

"Alfred, this is your final warning! Why are you out of bed, young man?"

Lo and behold, Alfred peeked his head into the kitchen, looking a little rueful as he made his presence known. "Sorry, Arthur. You guys can keep talking! I was just… hanging around," he said angelically, whistling and folding his hands behind his back.

"You didn't answer my question," Arthur reminded, casting the boy a sharp look before placing a firm hand on his forehead. "You still have a fever. What were you doing out of bed?"

"I called for you, but you didn't answer!" Alfred responded in an accusatory tone. "I woke up and wanted something to drink."

Arthur harrumphed and poured Alfred a glass of apple juice. "Nonetheless, it isn't nice to eavesdrop. You should've waited for me to check up on you or at least have let me known that you were standing by the door like civilized company."

Alfred pouted in an attempt to paint himself as faultless before taking the glass of juice, only to be stopped by a larger hand.

"Not so fast," Arthur murmured, pouring some water into the juice and watching the hue of the fruity drink pale at his ministrations.

Alfred frowned, sticking his tongue out in disgust. "Why are you adding water?"

"I have to dilute it. If it's too sugary or acidic, it could upset your stomach," Arthur explained, finally allowing Alfred to take a sip of the beverage.

"It doesn't taste as good anymore!"

"Most of the foods that are good for you don't carry the best of tastes. It would do you well to learn this now," Arthur muttered, taking his seat again and returning to his dinner with Matthew. "Go back to bed, and I'll be up in a few minutes."

Alfred's shoulders slumped, looking a little crestfallen at the idea of having to go back upstairs all by himself. "But it's boring there!" he whined with a congested sniffle before an idea struck him—he would prolong the conversation. "Are we having chicken again?"

"Matthew and I are, but you aren't," Arthur explained before taking a bite of broccoli. "I have a nice broth with your name on it. I'll move you up to more solid foods when your fever breaks and the nausea stops being a concern."

"Do I at least get dessert? Maybe a cookie?" the cold-ridden boy asked hopefully, his doe-like eyes pleading with his caretaker. "I'll die without a cookie! You're killing me!"

Arthur chuckled, shaking his head softly. "I'm not doing this to make you miserable; it's simply what is best for your health at the moment, and someday you'll thank me for it. However, having sweets when you're ill certainly _will _make you miserable. Now, back to bed with you," he insisted again, urging Alfred to start moving. "I'll be there in ten minutes."

"Okay," Alfred compromised sullenly, growing tired of the stalemate. "I'll be counting!"

"I'm sure you will be!"

Matthew felt himself smile involuntarily, consoled by his brother's antics. "Can I bring Alfred his present after dinner?"

"Of course you can, just don't dawdle in his room for too long; we don't want you getting sick as well. I doubt Alfred will exercise good hygiene out of your best interest," Arthur cautioned, carefully listening to hear Alfred's retreating footsteps. He relaxed once he was sure the boy was out of earshot and back in his room.

Matthew worriedly asked his guardian the question that had been lingering on his mind. "What if you get sick?"

Arthur scoffed in response, bringing a napkin to his mouth. "I wouldn't worry about me," he assured. "I'm practically immune to these types of things. Working in a hospital does wonders for your immune system, you know. When I first started the job, I was sick every week with some different form of influenza. Thankfully, by the following year, I rarely ever grew ill. Besides, becoming ill as an adult is different from when one is a child; there are less complications and we're a little less vulnerable."

"That's good," Matthew indicated. "Someone has to make Alfred better, and I don't know how. I remember how worried Alfred was when we came to the hospital; he promised that he would fix me, but I think he was just scared and wasn't so sure that he could keep his promise."

"It's not always easy to keep a promise," Arthur agreed, finishing up and working on getting Alfred his broth. "That's why you shouldn't make any promises that you know you might not be able to keep."

The information seemed to marinate in Matthew's mind for a moment, and he finally nodded.

Promises were nothing to be trifled with.

* * *

"You're looking a little less diseased," Arthur joked harmlessly, prodding Alfred in the side as he watched the child finish up his soup. "I think it's safe to assume that your fever will break by tomorrow afternoon if not tonight."

Alfred's blue eyes brightened with newfound hope as he ladled the last bit of soup onto his spoon. "Does that mean I can go to school tomorrow?"

"No," Arthur stated resolutely, unwilling to negotiate the issue. "You're staying here tomorrow, but if you feel all right in the morning, I'll let you spend the day in the living room."

"Please? I have to go, Arthur! Pretty pretty pretty please!"

"Alfred, we've already discussed this, and I'd appreciate it if you would put the case to rest as well. Now, stay put—Matthew has something to give you," Arthur forewarned, disappearing momentarily into the corridor before reappearing with a bashful Matthew.

"Mattie! You came to visit me!" Alfred exclaimed in excitement, reaching out his arms for a hug. Arthur had kept the two separated thus far, and with a probable cause in his opinion.

"No hugging!" their guardian warned. "I don't want any transaction of germs taking place for at least another day or so. I expect to see a three foot radius between you two at all times!"

Alfred grumbled unhappily, letting his arms drop as Matthew placed the bag of get-well gifts on his bed. His spirits rose again as he took a look at the contents. "You got me a bear and a card? You're the best, Mattie! Thanks!"

"You're welcome," Matthew replied mildly. "I'll tell you about Career Day, if you want. I bet it's not going to be that great anyway."

"Okay, but you have to tell me EVERYTHING."

"Okay."

Arthur smiled at the scene, giving Matthew a quick hug of his own before sending him off. Then, he fetched the children's fever reducer on the nightstand and measured out the correct dosage for Alfred, handing him the little medicine cup and watching as the boy gave him a baleful look in response.

"Don't sulk," Arthur instructed, unable to hide his expression that was a mixture between amused and sympathetic. "You'll take that, have a warm bath, and then go to sleep for the night."

Alfred threw up his arms theatrically, letting out an exasperated puff of breath to accompany the maneuver. "No playing, no Career Day, no dessert, a bath, medicine, and now an early bedtime? You hate me, don't you?"

"Oh, yes," Arthur began sarcastically, indulging the boy's fantasies. "I live to torture young children such as yourself. That's what I was taught in medical school, after all."

"I knew it! You're a monster!"

Arthur laughed softly, biting down his smile in an attempt to look intimidating. He held his hands up and curled his fingers in the shape of claws, stomping over to Alfred's bed and grabbing him by the shoulders before playfully nuzzling his face into the boy's neck.

"Get off!" the boy giggled, still holding the medicine cup as he kicked and writhed on the bed. "Get away!"

Arthur pulled back at the request, hair tousled as he took hold of the medicine cup and pushed the syrup into the boy's mouth persistently. The child grimaced and swallowed, turning up his face before breaking into another fit of giggles as Arthur tickled his neck again and carried him into the bathroom for his bath.

He rested his head against Arthur's shoulder, a small sneeze escaping him.

He was home.

And he was staying home… Tomorrow and the day after that, and the day after that.

He finally had a place to call his own…. A place to return to in times of need.

With another squeaky sneeze, he clung to Arthur's shirt as though it were his lifeline, completely at ease.

And he was going to make sure that Matthew felt the same way.

Little did he know, Matthew wouldn't be the one needing a lifeline much longer.

If only things could have stayed so simple…


	9. Chapter 9

_Career Day._

If there was one day that Matthew could have pinpointed and changed to make things better, this dreaded day would have been his first choice.

There were moments in life—Matthew later realized—when just a simple ten minutes could change the course of a lifetime. Those crucial, fleeting moments, were always the most regretted because in them lied an implanted and everlasting sense of hope that assured one that they could go back and fix that nearly microscopic interval of time that poisoned the events of years to follow. Ten minutes.

Ten minutes that could not be recovered.

The very thought of this helplessness seemed to sap at Matthew's sanity.

The day had started out innocently enough; Arthur had rushed him to the car, unwilling to leave Alfred unsupervised in the house for any extra time than necessary. Then, Matthew loaded himself into the backseat with his backpack and trusty polar bear by his side, head resting against the window as the car rolled into motion, and he watched the sleepy bodies on the street reluctantly leave behind the comfort of their homes to get to work on time.

They arrived punctually, and Matthew immediately hopped out of the car, double checking to make sure he had all of his belongings before turning back to Arthur so that they could properly part ways. They exchanged their usual hug, and Arthur flashed him a tender smile as they stood in the fresh morning air with the sound of playing children reverberating around them in the warm sunshine.

"Enjoy your day," Arthur had told him mildly, reaching out and clasping Matthew's hand in his own. "And try to have fun, yes?"

Matthew nodded listlessly, eyes drifting to the girls playing hopscotch at the edge of the schoolyard. "I'll try."

"There's a good lad."

A reassuring squeeze met his hand before Arthur finally let go, waving goodbye to him and making sure he was safely within the school's grounds before getting back inside of the car and returning home.

Matthew walked through the front doors, hands wrapped around the straps of his backpack before finding his seat in the corner of the classroom just before the bell rang to signify the start of the day. He withdrew a sharpened pencil and his notebook, quietly watching as his peers filed through the door, happily chattering before filling in the previously empty rows of desks.

Mr. Densen weaved his way through the crowd of smaller bodies, his usual grin already plastered on his face as he stood at the head of the room and erased the blackboard. Shortly after, he took the attendance, furrowing as his eyes took note of the empty desk in the center row.

"Alfred? Is Alfred here today?" he asked, meeting Matthew's gaze for a confirmation.

Matthew merely shook his head, cheeks burning as the class redirected their attention to him. "No, he's sick," he replied softly, lowering his head and pretending to immerse himself in his notebook.

"Oh, well, we wish him a speedy recovery," Mr. Densen commented before returning his focus to the day's agenda. "Class, we have a very special visitor joining us today for Career Day. He should be here any moment, so let's give him a warm welcome, okay?"

Another round of chatter rose up for a few minutes before two figures hovered behind the classroom door, knocking loudly to be invited inside. As Mr. Densen allowed the guests to enter, Matthew noted that the principal, Mr. Edelstein, was accompanied by a man of average height and nearly shoulder length hair who couldn't seem to stand in one place for too long.

The three adults exchanged a few whispered words before Mr. Densen faced the class once more. "Class, please welcome Detective Feliks Łukasiewicz, who has come to tell us a little bit about his field of work today."

A sloppy round of applause filled the room, and the restless man crossed the room, pulling out a shiny badge along with a pair of handcuffs for the class to see.

"Pass those around the room so everyone can see, but don't get stuck in the handcuffs because I don't have the key for them right now," the detective remarked so casually to the point where Matthew wasn't sure if the man was joking or not.

Matthew held the pair of stainless steel handcuffs in his hands as they were passed to him, noticing how heavy they were before inspecting the accompanying badge. It seemed pretty flimsy and lightweight for having such an important value. He noted the official emblem of the New York City Police Department before passing on the articles, listening intently to the man as he began his lecture.

"Being a detective is all about thinking outside the box," he started, pacing back and forth as he made eye contact with a few of the children before his eyes fell on Matthew. "You can't listen to what other people tell you. It doesn't matter what Mary, Jane, and John say at the end of the day. You need to know what you are looking for. You have to pick out the lies out of the gossip."

Matthew took a deep breath, shyly regarding the man's light green eyes that were much less piercing than Arthur's. The man seemed to have a sort of enticing and friendly charisma about him, which seemed a little unusual to Matthew, considering that his mental image of a detective usually revolved around someone tall and foreboding.

"There is no formula for getting things right when you work in law enforcement," Feliks continued, breaking his eyes away from Matthew and moving on to his next victim. "So, you have to figure out what to do on your own because if you don't, then you can end up putting someone else's life at risk for letting whatever Mary, Jane, and John say distract you from finding your guy."

Matthew frowned, folding his hands on his desk. There was no way he could ever be a detective since he had so much trouble merely talking to people. Maybe that was why this detective had such a friendly aura around him—it was part of his act. If he acted like he was casual and easy to be around with everybody, then he could get whatever information he wanted through sheer manipulation.

Matthew couldn't help but admire the thought.

"You have to blend in, and you have to be cool," Feliks murmured with a little smile. "You have to use Mary, Jane, and John to get to the real criminal. You don't question Mary and John, but you break Jane because once you break Jane, the rest of the story will find its way to you. You don't go looking for information; you let the information come to you. Like, if I'm looking for a rich guy who I think is involved in some sort of crime, I don't go to him for any answers until it's a last resort. Do you know who I interrogate first?"

A hushed set of whispers and debate fluttered through the classroom for a moment and Feliks smiled, his eyes falling back to Matthew's spot in the corner. "I ask his garbage man or maid, someone who is at the bottom of the pyramid. You can tell a lot about a guy by the way he treats his workers."

Matthew narrowed his eyes in thought, holding the man's steady gaze.

"It's these little things," Feliks punctuated, "that matter the most. It's these little traces that can't be covered up… Those are the things that effect the case; they are what make the biggest difference."

'The little things,' Matthew thought.

Like 10 minutes soaked in mistakes.

* * *

"The scale of his figure compared to the others in the drawing shows insecurity. I think Matthew is simply overwhelmed at the moment, and he should be just fine after having some time to adjust a bit more. Try to encourage him to be more interactive with others, and reward him for making small efforts at being sociable. Likewise, it's clear to me that Matthew is grieving over the loss of his mother and the broken connection between him and his father. This is to be expected, and again, should get better with time. Enrolling him in a club or sports team might help him to make new friends. However, there is something even more curious about what Matthew drew for me…"

"And what might that be?" Arthur queried Elizabeta as he balanced his cellphone between his neck and shoulder while folding the laundry.

He could practically hear the woman smiling on the other side of the line, her tone growing more airy as she sculpted her reply. "He drew _you_. Most children aren't so quick to accept a new family figure into their lives so quickly, especially those who suffer from mild to moderate separation anxiety such as Matthew."

Arthur felt a melancholy smile reach his lips before he sighed into the phone. "Should I do anything with the bear? Is it okay for him to be so attached to certain objects and memories?"

"That shouldn't be a problem since he's still so young. Be understanding of his feelings of attachment and if it ever does get out of hand, sit down and talk with him about the issue. You can set limits for him if it ever does get to a point that you think it will hinder him from daily activities," Elizabeta recommended, professional yet sympathetic at the same time.

Arthur made an affirmative sound, smoothing out a wrinkle in one of the boys' t-shirts. "All right then, but I think it would be best if Matthew didn't attend any more sessions. He awfully despises them and views them as some sort of punishment, so I don't want to arrange any more visits unless it's absolutely necessary."

"I agree and completely understand," Elizabeta reassured. "If you ever have any questions or concerns, I'll always be capable of setting aside some time to talk. Also, Matthew is welcome to return if the need ever arises."

"Thank you," Arthur responded gratefully, "and I'll be sure to contact you if there's a problem."

"I'm happy to have helped. Take care, Arthur."

"Goodbye."

Arthur set his phone down, mulling over the information Elizabeta had shared with him before finishing up with the pile of clothes that he had been working with. He brought his and Matthew's clothes into their respective rooms, deciding to sort Alfred's clothes after the boy had awakened from his sleep.

He then headed into the living room, opening a window to let in some fresh air before turning on the small radio on one of his book shelves, allowing a bit of quiet music to fill the otherwise silent room.

He was unused to silence now, and found it rather unnerving at times. The boys were always filling the house with life, and whenever he was finally presented with golden nothingness, he grew a bit apprehensive. Silence in the house usually meant that something was disorderly, so he made note to always have some white noise to keep his mind at ease.

He used to enjoy music quite a bit before he'd become consumed in work. After medical school, little niceties had been swept under the table.

Hearing a familiar song buzz in the background, he hummed the lyrics quietly to himself, almost surprised by his own singing voice after not hearing it in such a long span of time. He felt the breath rush from his lungs as he whispered the words into the pleasant morning.

"_And after all, you're my wonderwall…_"

"What are you singing?"

Arthur nearly jumped out of his skin, banging his knee on the coffee table in bewilderment. He grimaced, rubbing the area briskly for a moment before swiveling his head around to acknowledge the untimely trespasser.

"Why is it that you're always wandering out of bed?" he asked the disobedient child, looking stern. "I thought you were aware that you weren't attending school today; you're welcome to sleep in."

Alfred crossed his arms, flushed face looking quite annoyed. "I'm sick of sleeping. I want to _do _something. Besides, you didn't answer my question! What were you singing?"

"It's…It's a song from an English rock band that used to be rather popular," Arthur finally murmured, reminiscing.

"So, why'd you stop?"

Arthur brought a hand to his wrist, checking his pulse just to be on the safe side after that adrenaline rush. "Because you very nearly gave me a heart attack, that's why, you little nipper."

Alfred smiled mischievously, cocking his head to the side as he tried to catch the melody and the words of the song playing from the radio.

"_Maybe, you're gonna be the one that saves me…" _

"Sorry, I was bored," he finally told Arthur.

His caretaker smirked sardonically, guiding the boy into the kitchen for breakfast. "Ah, yes, boredom is one of life's greatest inflictions for a child, but believe me, one day you're going to _wish_ you had the privilege of being bored every once in a while."

"Why would I want that?"

"Because, my boy, life can get quite chaotic and ravenous at times."

Alfred grinned, reaching for a box of cereal. "I can handle it!"

"There's no doubt that you will," Arthur murmured, eyes warm and bright as he allowed Alfred to pour his own milk into the bowl, inviting the inevitable mess that would result in his actions.

* * *

Recess was less lively than usual, and Matthew couldn't help but wonder if it had anything to do with Alfred's absence. His twin always had a crowd of students flocking around him, stealing their attention as he came up with wild games to play.

However, today the other boys seemed to be a little lost, never settling on one part of the school yard for too long before transitioning to another area.

At first, Matthew didn't see this as much of a problem. He took his usual spot beside the monkey-bars, sitting on the ground and killing time as he waited for the bell to ring so that he could go back inside. Be that as it may, it soon became blatantly obvious that the other boys had an insatiable hunger for some entertainment, and were simply looking for a source that could provide them with what they were yearning to obtain.

And Matthew, being rather unlucky and looking too much like his rambunctious counterpart, fell victim to their little hunting group.

He tried to ignore the four boys who walked up to him at first, picking some lint off of Kumajirou and hoping that they would get the hint that he wasn't interested and would leave, but no such luck.

"Hey, you're Matthew, right? Alfred's brother?" one of them asked him rather loudly.

Matthew bit his lip and simply clutched his bear more firmly, keeping his head directed at his shoes. "Yeah."

Suddenly, he remembered what Arthur had told him about trying to be more talkative and open, so he dared to make eye contact with the boy who was speaking to him, instantly regretting the gesture as his classmate sent him an intimidating look that didn't seem friendly or compassionate at all.

"What's with the bear? Why do you carry him around all the time?"

Matthew dug his nails into the polar bear's fabric, inwardly pleading that someone would save him from the confrontation. "My mom gave him to me."

"That's weird. Only little kids carry their toys around to school with them," one of the other boys piped in.

Matthew scowled, ignoring the comment as he stood up and feigned interest in the monkey-bars. He swung from one of them with one arm, Kumajirou safely secured in the other.

"You're nothing like Alfred."

"So?" Matthew backfired, eyes cold. "Who said I have to be like him?"

The boy quickly changed subjects, and Matthew noticed something threatening in those brown eyes that made his stomach sink. "Can I see the bear?"

"No, he's mine."

"Don't you know how to share? I'm going to tell the teacher!"

Matthew assured himself that the boy was just bluffing and continued to swing on the monkey-bars, eyes directed at the fence of the schoolyard just a little distance in front of him.

"I'm talking to you!" the boy went on, separating himself from the other three and making a movement to snatch Kumajirou out of Matthew's hand.

Matthew winced instinctively as the boy drew himself closer. "No, you can't have him!"

And then, he felt a pair of hands ram into his side, causing him to lose his grip on the monkey-bars and Kumajirou before falling onto the hard rubber pads below. His elbow made impact with the ground first, which ended up in him scraping it painfully and drawing a bit of blood.

"I've got it!" the boy cheered as he swiped Kumajirou away, tossing it back at one of the other boys and setting off a round of laughter.

Matthew grimaced, sitting up and hastily scrambling to his feet. "Give him back!" he demanded, though even he could tell that his voice was shaky at best, and didn't seem frightening at all.

"Come and get it!" one of the boys cajoled, sprinting away.

Matthew felt frustrated tears gather in his eyes but refused to acknowledge them, running after the thief to no avail. He knew he wouldn't be able to catch up, and by the time the bell rang, Matthew was completely exhausted. He watched as one of the boys relinquished his possession of the bear, tossing him against the fence with finality before running inside with the other boys for the recommencement of class.

Matthew swallowed around what seemed to be a boulder in his throat and picked Kumajirou off of the ground, noting the dirt that was clinging to his fur.

_So much for being sociable. _

The rest of the day was agony, and Matthew only counted the minutes until dismissal. His elbow was still stinging and by the time the final bell rang, he felt as though he was going to burst into a mess of tears and sobs any second.

Mr. Densen dismissed them and escorted them outside, making sure each student was safely returned to their parent. When Matthew caught Arthur's eyes, he felt his tears escape him almost involuntarily, suddenly overcome with emotion. He ran into the man's arms, leaving his class behind as he buried himself into Arthur's hold.

"What's wrong, love?"

Arthur's swelling concern only brought forth more tears, and soon Matthew was shuddering from the effort of suppressing his sobs.

For a second, he debated telling Arthur the truth, but knew that telling the man would only cause his guardian only more worry and alarm. Plus, any chance of Matthew making friends would have been squashed as soon as Arthur had a word with his teacher.

He would fix things on his own terms, so he did the only thing that seemed logical at that moment, fully aware of the fact that he would later chastise himself for it.

He lied.

Well, he withheld part of the truth, which pretty much amounted to the same felony in his book.

"I fell during recess and hurt my elbow," he blubbered into Arthur's shirt shamelessly.

Arthur let out a small sigh of relief, pulling away from Matthew momentarily to address the problem. "Let me have a look at it then."

He stood submissively, muscles paralyzed as Arthur pushed back the sleeve of his thin sweater and scrutinized the cut before straightening the sleeve once more. "We'll put a bandage and some ointment on it when we get home, okay? There's no reason to get so upset over it. It'll be all better by tomorrow."

Matthew nodded, drying his eyes and sniffling before getting into the car, eyes puffy and dull with sorrow.

Arthur made a few attempts at cheering him up by the time they got home, but his efforts did little to console Matthew, who only ran into the house as soon as they pulled into the driveway. He knocked loudly on the door and listened as Alfred warily approached the door on the other side.

"It's me," Matthew informed, taking a step back as Alfred unlocked the door and prepared to let his brother in. "Arthur is getting something from the car," he muttered as he made a move to step inside.

"What's wrong?" Alfred questioned, immediately noticing his brother's disposition.

Matthew shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly, using the same excuse that he'd used with Arthur. "I hurt my elbow at recess."

"I don't believe you," Alfred accused, not so easily convinced. He knew his brother better than to fall for the ploy.

"I'll show you the cut."

"No, not that. Tell me what really happened," Alfred insisted, noting that Arthur was now locking the doors of the car and heading for the house. "I won't move until you say you'll tell me, and then you'll have to explain to Arthur—"

Matthew glared and attempted to shove past his brother, who only shoved him back.

"You promised that you would tell me everything that happened on Career Day. Today is Career Day, so you have to tell me."

"I don't want to. Let me in!"

"Mattie…"

Matthew met his brother's fretful eyes and felt the militia of tears returning. His twin could be a stubborn brat at times. "All right, I'll tell you in a minute."

Alfred nodded, satisfied. He stepped aside and let Matthew through, watching as he retreated upstairs before noting Arthur's arrival as well and holding the door open for him too.

"Thank you, poppet," the man muttered as he passed, ruffling Alfred's hair. His eyes flickered to the stairs before he turned back to the twin. "Do you remember that little promise that you made me not too long ago?"

Alfred knew exactly what the elder was talking about, and he was already two steps ahead of the game. "I'll talk to him," he told Arthur knowingly.

The man smiled softly, eyes thankful. "That's just what I was hoping to hear."

And with that, Alfred raced up the stairs and wandered into Matthew's room, shutting the door behind him and bouncing on his bed before sending his twin a worried glance. There was a long moment of silence as they tried to decide who should talk first, and ultimately, Matthew was forced to begin.

With a reluctant start, he told Alfred everything that had happened, from the detective's visit to the boys on the playground, and lastly, how they had picked on him and robbed Kumajirou just to irk him and see him become upset. As he went on with the recount, Alfred seemed to become more and more enraged, to the point where he was just about to tell Arthur everything that he'd discovered. However, Matthew was quick to protest.

"Please, don't tell him!"

"They deserve to get in trouble though!" Alfred rationalized, staring straight into his brother's eyes in order to persuade him. "If you tell the teacher than they're never going to mess with you again."

"But then all of the kids in the class are going to think that I'm just a tattletale."

Alfred pursed his lips, angered at the prospect that somebody had tormented his brother and that he hadn't been able to do anything to stop it. "Fine, then, if that's what you want then I'm just going to have to go to school tomorrow and tell them to stay away from you."

"That's not any better than telling the teacher!"

"No one bullies my brother and gets away with it!" Alfred griped in a harsh whisper. "Just trust me, and I'll handle it."

"Alfred, please… Promise you won't do anything to them."

Alfred shook his head, standing up and towering over his brother. "I can't do that, Mattie."

"Yes, you can. Please, do it for me. I don't want anybody to get involved. Besides, once you come back to school, they're going to stop."

And so, Alfred was faced with a stalemate. Either he had to break his promise to Arthur and fail to protect his brother or he had to break his promise to Mattie by getting vengeance on the students who had antagonized him.

He weighed the pros and cons.

"All right, Mattie," he sighed densely, directing his gaze toward the wall. "I promise not to tell anyone or do anything to get back at them."

Matthew nodded softly. "Good."

And so, Alfred walked out of his brother's room, returning to his own bed and staring at the ceiling gloomily.

He had every intention of getting his revenge, and he would just have to bear the hatred that Matthew would feel toward him after breaking his vow.

Some promises had to be broken.

But that didn't make the consequences any easier to endure.


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's Note: First, thank you all once again for supporting this story. I'd just like to let everyone who isn't aware know that I plan on going through the rest of the boys' lives in this story, meaning that this will probably be the last chapter centering around the boys as young children. I have a clear picture of how the events in this story will unfold, so I can't wait to share it all with you! Enjoy!**

* * *

There was an infallible determination that had been ignited in Alfred the following morning, to the point where he made it his duty to attend school. Unfortunately, this meant that he first had to find a way to evade the hurdle of obtaining a clean bill of health from Arthur.

It soon became apparent, however, that Arthur's expectations and criteria were simply too high and strict, meaning that Alfred was going to have to force some elasticity into the situation by smuggling the façade of health into his possession. Thankfully, it didn't take very much effort on his part, seeing as his fever had broken well into the night, removing the peskiest obstacle in his way. Now, all he had to do was appear as energetic and lively as ever, hoping that Arthur would grant him permission to leave the house.

Trying to be as discreet as ever, he cunningly set his plan into motion. "Can I have an extra waffle?" he had asked his caretaker during breakfast almost lackadaisically.

Arthur immediately fell for the bait, and it took all of Alfred's self-restraint to refrain from openly celebrating his victory. "Your ridiculously gluttonous appetite has returned," the man noted, pressing the back of his hand to Alfred's forehead. "And your fever hasn't made a reappearance. In that case, do you feel well enough to go to school today?"

Making sure to keep his face as neutral as possible, Alfred shrugged his shoulders offhandedly, stuffing food into his mouth to make a show of himself. "I guess so. Do I have to go back?"

The addition of the final question was ingenious in Alfred's opinion, considering that it got him the exact response that he'd been hoping for.

"I know you must be well again if you're trying to avoid school," Arthur noted with a dry smile, convinced that the boy was well on the road to recovery. "I suppose that means you should be all right to make it through the school day. However, if you start feeling worse for wear again—"

Alfred rolled his eyes, forcing more waffles down his throat. "Yeah, I should tell the teacher, I know."

Satisfied with the outcome of the exchange, Arthur began preparing two lunches rather than one, preoccupying himself as the twins changed and brushed their teeth before the entire trio trudged toward the car.

Then, Alfred climbed into the backseat with Matthew, glancing at his brother warily as he recognized the grim look embedded in the eyes that were so much like his own. When had that hint of sadness permanently settled there?

Well, he was going to make things better, even if it meant jeopardizing his own content.

The familiar school building soon came into view, and Alfred took the opportunity to give Arthur a bear hug as soon as the car came to a stop, savoring the moment due to the fact that he knew that the man wouldn't be pleased with him by the end of the day. The smell of his caretaker's cologne brought him consolation, and Alfred had to muster the remainder of his willpower to shatter the temptation of spilling his worries and intentions out into the open.

"Behave yourself and have a lovely day, lad," Arthur told him softly, pulling the boy's head close to his chest and pressing a chaste kiss onto the mop of hair. "And remember that I'll be at your side should you need me."

Startled by the actions and words, Alfred raised his head to meet Arthur's eyes and offered him a dimply smile. It was almost as if the man could read his mind, foreseeing some future disturbance and contingency.

Feeling a burning sensation where the kiss had been planted, Alfred treasured the moment before nodding carefully. "I know," he whispered in a strained voice, holding the man's gaze before pulling away and stepping out of the car as Matthew accepted his own farewell from Arthur.

Then, the twins reunited and made their way into the school, weaving through the crowds of students before reaching their classroom.

Alfred halted at the doorway, taking a deep breath and holding it for as long as he possibly could before crossing the threshold, steeling himself for a confrontation with the boys who had harassed Matthew. He locked eyes with the main perpetrator and walked toward his own seat that had been empty the previous day, assuring himself that there would be plenty of time to settle the matter during recess.

Ideally, he should've gone straight to the teacher, but Alfred sensed that the maneuver would have been futile, and spared himself the trials and tribulations. There were just some problems that weren't meant for adult interference, and as far as Alfred was concerned, it was his obligation to his brother to avenge him for the humiliation that the group of boys had put him through.

He barely managed to stay focused on the actual grammar lesson on proper punctuation as he anticipated the bell for lunch and recess. He would learn about proper nouns some other time, preferably when his brother's safety was no longer endangered.

And then, after what seemed like an eternity, the signal he'd been waiting for resounded throughout the school building, and Alfred jumped out of his seat, ignoring Matthew's looks of inquiry as they entered the schoolyard. Spotting the boys by the fence, he approached them, realizing that someone was clinging onto his arm only when he had made half the journey.

"Alfred, stop!" Matthew negotiated fervently, trying to pull his brother back but failing to even make him stumble. "Just forget about it! You promised that you wouldn't say or do anything!"

Alfred refused to look at his twin, temper flaring as he made eye contact with his target. "I lied," he murmured to his pleading brother, shaking the hand off of his arm. "I can't keep our promise."

"I won't talk to you anymore if you do this!" Matthew threatened, gripping Kumajirou with a strength that pained him. "A good brother wouldn't break a promise!"

Alfred shook his head, balling his hands into fists. He would never be able to be a good brother if he couldn't keep Matthew out of harm's way. "I guess I'm not a good brother then."

Matthew frowned, scuffing his shoes as he trailed behind his brother timidly. He made a movement to latch onto Alfred's arm again, only to flinch and erase the gesture, bringing his hand back to his stuffed polar bear as he spectated indecisively.

"Hey, Alfred! Where've you been?" one of the more outspoken boys of the group asked casually, acknowledging his presence.

Alfred seethed with repressed fury, eyes hard and unforgiving. "You think you can just pick on my brother while I'm gone and then act like nothing happened?"

Matthew took a step back nervously, watching silently as the boy who had greeted Alfred became defensive at once, cheerful demeanor long gone. Apparently, they were well-acquainted with one another.

"Your brother snitched? It was just a joke!"

Alfred's face hardened—a rare occurrence. "I didn't find it very funny," he snarled in return.

The boy involved in the previous day's skirmish merely rolled his eyes, exchanging a few incredulous looks with his friends. "C'mon, even you have to admit he's a little weird," he muttered bitterly, taking a step forward. "Then again, I'd probably be a weirdo too if I didn't have any _real _parents."

Matthew felt his stomach somersault as Alfred grit his teeth in response, roughly pinning the boy against the fence and jostling him. "Take it back! Take it back right now or else!"

"Or else what?" the boy challenged slyly, not looking intimidated in the slightest. "I can't believe I was ever friends with you. Now that I've gotten to know your brother, I can tell that you're a freak too."

At this, some of the boys behind the quarreling pair furrowed their brows and dispersed, disapproving of the situation as they watched from a safer distance.

Meanwhile, Alfred felt his hands quiver with rage, and suddenly he was reminded of all of the wintry nights on the street, the hysteria at the hospital, his father's hateful eyes... Channeling all of his anger, he drew back his fist, only to have it held firmly in place by Matthew who merely casted him a dubious look as he had finally gathered up the courage to step forward.

"Stop," his twin commanded expressionlessly as one of the other students ran off to alert a teacher.

Alfred squeezed his eyes shut, berating himself for a moment and releasing his classmate, fist dropping uselessly to his side as he caught sight of a flabbergasted Mr. Densen. He shouldn't have chickened out and let his opportunity for vengeance slither right from underneath his palms.

What a waste…

The second-grade teacher looked as morose as ever as he reached the scene, something very foreign and uncharacteristic of the usually overflowing exuberance that he sported. "What's going on over here, kids? You both know fighting is prohibited," he emphasized, eyes boring into Alfred's before transitioning to the other culprit with an astonished reverence. "I'll escort you both to the principal's office."

Alfred sighed and chewed violently on his lip, lagging behind the teacher and purposefully separating himself from the other student as they made their way toward the main office.

He wished Matthew hadn't held him back.

* * *

"You realize that there will be serious repercussions for this sort of behavior?"

"Yes, Mr. Edelstein."

"Provoked or not, you were the one who sought to result to violence, and that is unacceptable."

"I know, sir."

"If you ever display such behavior again, I will have no choice but to suspend you, at the very least."

Alfred nodded meekly once more, compliant and agreeable as he sat in the lumpy chair in front of the principal's desk, shifting in his seat uncomfortably. During this entire discussion, Arthur stood across from him, formidable and severely disappointed as he loomed over his shamefaced figure. So far, the man hadn't spoken a word since he'd entered the room, which Alfred interpreted as a bad sign that meant he was in a lot of trouble. He briefly wondered what Arthur would do with him, considering that he'd never been seriously punished by his new guardian before.

"I expect you to apologize to your classmate tomorrow morning, and realize that such aggression will not be tolerated in the future."

Another nod at the principal, and Alfred was free to go after being given a week's worth of detention, which was usually reserved for the older students. He skittishly shot up and out of the chair, rushing toward the door and retreating into the hallway as Arthur followed shortly behind. His guardian placed a stern hand on his shoulder once he'd caught up and ushered him to the car, the heavy and rigid silence slowly sapping at what little composure Alfred had retained.

He got into the vehicle and put on his seatbelt, petulantly staring out the window to avoid the dangerously stifling atmosphere. He dared to peek in Arthur's direction, watching as the man shifted gears and pulled out of the parking space.

"Are you going to yell at me?" he questioned unsurely, fingers picking at a piece of lint on his sweater.

"Should I?" Arthur replied rhetorically, flicking on the windshield wipers as a light drizzle began to accumulate outside. He rubbed a tired hand over the right side of his face, one hand tightly clutching the steering wheel in frustration. "It would be wise of you to stay quiet while I figure out how to deal with this recent display of aggression and disobedience."

"It's not my fault though! I had to do something or—"

Arthur stopped at a red light, his anger escalating rapidly as Alfred's rambling only seemed to aggravate him further. "Didn't I just tell you to keep quiet?"

"But you don't understand what—"

"Alfred Jones!"

The boy sighed exasperatedly, a little stunned at the fact that Arthur had scolded him in such a harsh tone of voice. He'd been chided multiple times before, but he'd never heard Arthur raise his voice to such a degree. Frightened, he curled up in his seat, focusing his gaze as far away from the man as possible so as to not infuriate him to a greater extent.

Arriving home didn't make the situation any better at all, and as Alfred took his walk of shame toward the house, he let himself be directed inside after Arthur had unlocked the door, feeling awfully cold and guilty. He still wasn't sorry for what he'd done, but he couldn't stand to see that look of contempt and disappointment in Arthur's eyes.

He waited for a command from the man, expected to be lectured, but Arthur did nothing, and simply walked into the living room, completely ignoring his charge for the time being.

Alfred took his turn to be offended. So, was Arthur just going to pretend that he didn't exist anymore? It hadn't even been a real fight, and he could've done a lot more damage if he hadn't let Matthew and his conscience get in the way. He was being judged too harshly!

"Aren't you going to say something?" Alfred asked his guardian, temper flaring up for the second time that day. "You didn't even hear my side of the story!"

Arthur sighed, organizing a stack of papers on the coffee table. "Alfred, go to your room," he ordered, eerily calm.

"Why? You haven't heard what I have to say yet!"

"Don't make me say it again," Arthur warned, turning to the child before pointing a finger toward the stairs. There was a reason he had tried to repel any conversation thus far, realizing that both he and Alfred needed a few minutes to cool down before they could discuss things civilly. However, Alfred was skating on thin ice, and Arthur wasn't sure how much more his patience could withstand.

"Yell at me!" Alfred demanded, hunching over as though in pain, recalling a time when his father had hit him for breaking a lamp. "Yell at me or hit me! Just do something so that you won't be mad at me anymore!"

Arthur released a furious breath, taking a seat on the couch. "I will do no such thing. We will have a chat later, but not now. This is my final warning, Alfred, go to your room."

Overwhelmed with conflicting emotions, Alfred seemed to battle with himself for a moment as he stood by the window. He didn't want to make Arthur angrier and knew he should surrender and go to his room, but there seemed to be some deep fear gnawing at his stomach, urging him to stay and be punished properly. His father had always told him that it wasn't a punishment if it didn't hurt. He wanted to put this behind him, and the only way that he could foresee that happening was by getting reprimanded immediately.

Honestly, why was Arthur being so quiet and passive? It was completely out of the norm. Was it because of how upset he was?

He was beginning to think that Arthur loved him, that he would protect him and care for him, but now he could see that it was all just a lie. No one could ever care about him because as soon as he did something wrong, the world began to hate him once more. He would forever be forced to find his way on his own because adults were useless. They couldn't protect anyone!

"Alfred, why are you still _here_?"

Yes, why was he here? He should've known better than to have been taken in by some doctor, of all people! It was no wonder Matthew was so unhappy. They would've been much better off if they had just remained in each other's care, but now Matthew was displeased with him for breaking his promise and refused to talk to him as well. If he hadn't let Arthur interfere in their lives, Alfred was sure that his relationship with Matthew would've never been broken so savagely.

Upon seeing that he wasn't being obeyed, Arthur stood up from the couch and swept over to Alfred, grabbing him by the upper arm and guiding him toward the stairs against the child's will. He was firm, but not to the point where he caused the boy any harm, careful not to exert too much force.

"Why are you being so difficult today, Alfred? What in the world has gotten into you?" the man asked him gently, suddenly taking on a pitying tone of voice. For a moment, he worried that he'd overlooked the boy's feelings, which was why he was suddenly being so violent.

Alfred bit his lip, pulling against Arthur's hold ruthlessly. "Let me go! You don't know anything!" he cried out, wriggling out of the stern grasp ineffectually. He was easily overpowered by Arthur, and was soon being led into his room and set on the bed.

Arthur then crouched by beside him, placing his hands on Alfred's knees and looking up at him. "I need you to calm down so that we can handle this maturely, okay?"

Alfred shut his eyes and let out a quivering breath, his mind trailing back to the one comment that he couldn't seem to get out of his mind, and it made him feel angry all over again.

_You have no real parents_.

"W-Why should I listen to you?" Alfred blurted, his emotions overtaking his judgment again. "You aren't my real dad!"

He regretted the statement as soon as the words had been wrenched out of his mouth.

Arthur seemed visibly hurt by the remark, his hands falling to his sides before he slowly stood up, struggling with how to reply. "I know I'm not, but I'm trying, Alfred. I'm trying to do my best to keep you and your brother healthy and happy, but—"

"You're doing a bad job!" Alfred accused, hating himself more and more with each spoken word. He was a terrible and ungrateful brat! What was wrong with him? He knew he should apologize right away. He would hug Arthur and tell him how sorry he was for being so terrible and for not telling him about Mattie being bullied at school.

But the words just kept rising up his throat against his will.

"Well, I'm sorry that you feel that way," Arthur said despondently, sorrow etched in his features. "I suppose it's a good thing that we got this settled before the finalization of the adoption. I was silly for thinking that I could ever be a good caretaker."

Alfred opened his mouth to speak once more, horrified that Arthur would even suggest such a thing. "I didn't—"

"It's quite all right," Arthur reassured with a sad little smile that made Alfred want to rip his own heart out. "I understand now. It's not your fault, dear boy."

What was he saying? Of course it was his fault!

Oh, how he wished he could take his words back. "I didn't mean it! Y-You can't send us away!"

"But you boys aren't happy here..."

Alfred shook his head fiercely, grabbing Arthur's hand. "I'm happy," he reassured. "I was just mad because of what happened today. You said before that things would be tough, but that they would get better..."

"Well," Arthur began uncertainly, looking very haggard and worried, "we'll see what Angelique says when she comes over to talk to you boys in a few weeks' time. She'll be able to decide whether or not it's best for you to stay here with me before we even attend the court hearing in the couple of months remaining."

Alfred stuffed his face into his hands. What if Arthur was intentionally trying to get rid of him?

No, he'd never do that…

There was one thing—he realized—that hadn't changed after moving in with Arthur.

He still just wanted a family… A _real _one.

* * *

It was within the following days that Arthur received the e-mail.

When he'd seen the sender, he'd been afraid to click on the message, overcome with immense fear at what its written contents would be. He had a pretty good idea that it had something to do with the boys—_his_ boys.

The commitment of it all seemed to nearly drown him in unease. Up until this point, there had always been the option of backing out of his decision. If things had gone horribly wrong, and he had discovered that he was not fit for the job, he would have something to fall back on. It would've been a horrible thing to do to the twins, but still… He'd had a potential Plan B.

But now, it was nearly official. He opened the message and skimmed it, quickly spotting the date of the court hearing and the final documents that had to be filled out and signed before then.

If all went according to plan, Arthur would be the official guardian of the twins for life. A permanent document would be written up and put into a database full of stored files, and Arthur would be expected to fulfill his duties as a caretaker. There was no turning back. That is, if one of the boys decided that he was a terrible parent, it wouldn't matter; they were still stitched together whether they liked it or not.

Deciding that he definitely didn't want to have to go through all of this alone, he had done the only thing that he thought might calm him throughout the last binding shreds of the process.

"Francis? It's me," he muttered into the phone later the following night, preparing himself a cup of tea as he spoke in a hushed tone. "You've been avoiding me like the plague lately and acting like a git, but as displeased with you as I might be, I thought it would only be ethically right for me to invite you to the official date for the court hearing that I've just received from—"

"_Non_," the voice on the other end interjected, unrelenting. "I cannot. I'm sorry, Arthur."

Arthur scowled, pouring the steaming water from the kettle into his favorite mug. "And why the bloody hell not?"

"I cannot see the boys any longer."

"Was it something I said? After all these years I didn't think that you'd suddenly become sensitive to my—"

"_Non_, it's nothing like that," Francis murmured with a click of his tongue. "I cannot see the boys out of good conscience."

Arthur felt his stomach constrict painfully. Had everyone in the world lost their minds? "I-I don't understand."

"I have to go, Arthur. I wish you and the boys nothing but the best," Francis finished gravely before hanging up and leaving Arthur to the sound of his own breathing and the rhythmic end tone.

The green eyed man huffed impatiently, slamming the phone down on the table.

"Good for nothing frog."

* * *

When there was a sharp and persistent knock on the door one day, Alfred felt like an idiot upon inferring who the mysterious visitor was because he realized that he had a lot of explaining to do.

Ever since his little 'fight' in school, things between the tiny family had grown tense. Matthew refused to talk to him and only conversed with Arthur, seeing as he still hadn't gotten over the scene that Alfred had caused at recess.

Ah, school… Things had really gone downhill fast in that area. He had quickly been ostracized from the others in his class, and now that Matthew hesitated to even look in his general direction, he'd been forced to meander around on his own, never meeting the questioning glances that everyone shot him as he walked by.

Then there was Arthur, who seemed to have retreated into himself during the course of spiraling events. The man was either at work or locked away in his office or bedroom, coming out only when absolutely necessary. At first, Alfred thought that the man was upset with him, but it turned out that he was just as aloof around Matthew. He seemed extremely concerned and woebegone on most days, never quite holding the same authority and confidence that he'd held in the days before the incident at the school.

Alfred wanted to ask what was wrong and whether or not Arthur needed any help with anything, but couldn't bring himself to query the man after having caused him grief. There was still a small portion of him that wondered whether or not Arthur was repulsed by his presence, and though he knew it was irrational and stupid to even dwell on, he couldn't help but let the terrible thoughts invade his mind once in a while.

And then, Angelique had started getting involved, making visits once a week to 'evaluate' their crumbling family setting before the court date. During these drop-ins, Alfred and Matthew would tell Angelique about their transition to a new family and school while she traveled down her checklist to see that all was in order.

According to Angelique, it was very rare for an adoption to _not _be finalized unless the guardian had transformed into some sort of criminal since the day of the placement date.

This was reassuring, to say the least, especially since Alfred had been worrying that he and Matthew might be moved to a different home after everything they'd already been through with Arthur.

So, it wasn't a surprise then that they arrived to the date of the court hearing without any real hitch. Arthur had dressed them in what he called 'proper attire', meaning that Alfred and Matthew had been forced into wearing matching white shirts and itchy sweaters along with corduroy pants before being subjected to sitting through a boring hour of formalities.

There had been a lot of spoken words that neither boy had understood, but Arthur had signed some papers before being presented with an adoption decree, serving as a temporary birth certificate for each boy before the actual certificates could be redeemed.

Relieved that the grueling wait was finally over, Alfred had hopped out of his seat and asked to look at the decree, admiring the professionalism of it all before he took note of the name written on the document.

_Jones. _

Arthur hadn't changed their surname to Kirkland…

Knitting his brows together, he gave the man an inquisitive look, quite upset at the revelation. Was this just further proof that Arthur didn't want to care for them?

"I'm still Alfred Jones," he whispered, holding out the offending paper back to Arthur. "I thought I was going to be a Kirkland."

Arthur took back the decree and checked his watch before meeting Alfred's eyes carefully. He seemed awfully nervous. "I gave it a lot of thought, and it didn't seem right of me to impose my name onto you both. You were born with the name 'Jones' and that's the name that you should continue to have."

The man would've been lying if he'd claimed that he wasn't stunned as Alfred then fled from the courtroom, clearly distraught as he disappeared beyond the wooden doors.

It seemed that they had a long road ahead of them.

And Arthur was still filled with uncertainty as he rushed to soothe the boy.


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's Note: Election Day means no school for me, resulting in a writing frenzy. :)**

* * *

_Ten years later…_

Matthew groaned into the depths of his pillow, outstretching an arm and hitting the snooze button on his alarm clock before commencing the inward argument with himself that no, he couldn't wait five more minutes to get ready to leave for school lest he be late for first period.

He groggily rolled out of bed, a giant yawn escaping him as he glared at the frigid January morning through the window, blaming it for the miserably cold weather. Then, without further ado, he shuffled into the hallway, briefly pausing to note that Alfred's door was still closed, meaning that he wouldn't be getting up any time soon.

It wasn't much of an amazement. In fact, Matthew would've been surprised if Alfred decided to get up at all. There was no doubt that his brother was going to be late, even if he decided that going to school was worth the bother.

So, he continued his way downstairs and into the kitchen, a little curious upon seeing Arthur sitting at the table, hands folded and resting underneath his chin as a steaming cup of tea rested before him. He was already dressed for work, familiar stethoscope dangling from his neck as he seemed to be staring off into space in deep thought. When Matthew greeted him and opened the fridge to get some juice, the man finally seemed to shake himself out of his stupor.

"Good morning, Matthew," he started with a soft sigh. "Is your brother up yet?"

Matthew scoffed and gave his guardian a dubious look. "Do you have to ask?"

Arthur sighed again albeit more heavily than the first time around. "What am I going to do with that boy?" he asked helplessly, rubbing a hand across his eyes. "He's completely impossible to talk to."

Matthew shrugged his shoulders, pulling out some pancake mix out of the pantry. "I don't know. He doesn't talk to me either, and even if he did, we only share one class together, so I still wouldn't see him for the majority of the day."

Arthur nodded, taking a sip of tea for some comfort. "Yes, I know, lad, and I certainly don't hold you accountable for his actions. I remember how confused I was when I was a teenager, especially after my father passed away, so I know what a difficult time it can be. I don't want to add any more stress and confusion to Alfred's home-life, but I can't simply sit back and do nothing while he wastes away."

Matthew hummed in agreement, flipping a pancake as Arthur continued with his mental battle.

"I know I don't say this enough, but I'm so proud of you, Matthew. You're becoming such a responsible young adult," he murmured with a fond smile. "How do you do it?"

Matthew chuckled quietly, offering his guardian a pancake. "I made some great friends who like the same things that I do. Who you hang out with has a lot to do with how you approach tough situations."

Arthur nodded again before politely declining the offer of food. "I'm afraid my appetite is rather poor at the moment, but thank you."

"Sure," Matthew murmured with a small smile, hoping to make Arthur a little less tense. Lately, he could tell that the man had been worrying non-stop, meaning that his temper in regards to Alfred was very short and volatile.

But time was still ticking, so Matthew quickly finished his breakfast and cleaned up any dirty dishes before heading back upstairs to get changed. He pulled open the doors to his closet and picked out some jeans, a shirt, a warm sweater and his winter jacket, hastily putting everything on except the jacket, considering that he still had to brush his teeth.

He left his room again, only to find that Alfred's door was now wide open, and Arthur was standing inside, lecturing an apathetic Alfred, who was still half-asleep by the looks of it.

"Going to school isn't optional, Alfred! I want you up and ready to leave in ten minutes or you won't enjoy the consequences," Arthur cautioned, picking up a few discarded items of clothing on the floor in a vain attempt to tidy up the pigsty in the room. "Ten minutes," he reiterated before retreating.

Matthew frowned, making his way into the bathroom and finishing up the mandatory process of tending to personal hygiene before returning to his room to pull on a pair of boots and his jacket. He trotted down the stairs for the final time that morning, making his way for the front door before being interrupted.

"Where do you think you're going without saying goodbye? And, to make matters worse, where is your hat? Thirty percent of your body heat is lost through your head," Arthur teased lightly, holding out a knit hat to his charge.

Matthew rolled his eyes, pulling on the article without further insistence. "Must've slipped my mind," he finally replied, indulging his guardian in a quick embrace. "No pun intended."

"You need a scarf as well. You know that this cold air is terrible for your asthma," Arthur fretted, wrapping a fleece scarf around Matthew's neck and securing part of it over his mouth and nose to keep him from breathing in the chilly air.

The teen snickered, feeling the heat radiating off of him. "I'm sweating. I have to go."

"Very well, learn something valuable today," Arthur ordered, with a wry smirk.

Matthew nodded. "Save some lives today, and good luck with getting Alfred out of the house."

"I'll need it," Arthur huffed, waving goodbye as he watched Matthew reach the end of the driveway before closing the door behind him.

Then, a genius idea struck the man. He raised an eyebrow, weighing his options before returning to Alfred's room, only to find the boy still adamantly curled up in bed, refusing to move.

"Alfred, what did I say?" he asked the prone figure rhetorically before checking the clock on the wall in a confirmation of his suspicions. "If you insist on acting so childishly, you will be treated as such."

The golden head of hair rose up marginally, skeptical before falling back to the mattress, as solid as a log.

In the next moment, Arthur was at the bedside, yanking Alfred up by the arm and forcing him out of bed. The teen let out a cry of protest, flailing as he was dropped to the ground, face pressed up against the carpet.

Arthur mustered the sternest voice in his arsenal, fully knowing that it could instill fear in even the most ferocious of creatures. He often used the tone with patients who enjoyed making his life more difficult than it already was. "Get up, Alfred. I will not be late to work because of your antics."

Grumbling into the carpet for a moment longer, Alfred pushed himself up on teetering legs, scowling at Arthur defiantly. "What do you want from me?"

Lord, how the boy had grown. At the mere age of seventeen, he already rivalled Arthur's height and had developed a broad chest and firm stance. Gone were the little pouches of baby fat in Alfred's cheeks, replaced with firm tissue that outlined the contours of his face rather impressively along with a bit of stubble from neglecting to shave for a few days. Likewise, glasses were now perched upon his nose and framing his eyes, seeing as puberty had plagued him with myopia. Matthew sported spectacles as well, but his farsightedness allowed him to only wear them for reading purposes.

"I'd change that tone quickly if I were you, boy," Arthur chided, not swayed by Alfred's gruff appearance in the slightest. He knew that no matter how mature the teen wanted to be perceived as, he was still a child at heart, conflicted between regressing to his childhood and progressing to adulthood. "Change and meet me by the car no more than five minutes from now."

"You're going to drive me?" Alfred asked, a bit bewildered.

"Apparently, you're in need of an escort to make sure that you don't take any _detours_ along the way."

"I'm not some freshman! I can take the train and get there myself."

A disbelieving laugh emitted from Arthur's throat, dark and frightening. "Oh, really? Enlighten me if I'm mistaken, dear boy, but who was the one who spent the day in Times Square with friends when he should've been in Economics class last week?"

Alfred bit his tongue to keep from making the situation worse, clearly annoyed at his guardian's accusations.

Taking the silence as a triumph on his part, Arthur nodded as he picked up Alfred's backpack off of its hook on the door. "That's what I thought. Now, move along," he commanded, whacking Alfred's rear with the backpack harmlessly to embarrass him further. A little humiliation seemed to be just the right prescription for Arthur's stubborn teen at the moment.

Alfred blushed in frustration, glaring at Arthur as the man made sure that his charge was on the move before departing to the car.

The man started the car as he waited, blasting on the heat before making a move to toss Alfred's backpack into the backseat. However, he stopped himself halfway through the maneuver, registering a strange sound of what sounded like a moving box of crayons in the boy's bag. He unzipped the front pocket, pushing past blunt pencils and cap-less pens before finding what he was looking for.

Cursing under his breath, Arthur fished out the box of cigarettes, squinting at them in distaste. He hadn't held a box of cigarettes in his hand for a long time—not since his father had died from the emphysema.

He jumped in his seat as someone knocked on the window, and unlocked the door on the passenger's side, still examining the packet of cigarettes even as the teen plopped himself into the seat beside him.

"Hey!" Alfred growled, noticing what Arthur was so interested in. "Stop snooping through my stuff!" he exclaimed, swiping his backpack away from his guardian and making move to snatch the cigarettes as well.

Arthur crushed the box in his hands before stowing it away into his coat pocket and out of sight. "You won't be needing those anymore."

"You can't just look through my stuff and take whatever you want! That's stealing!"

Arthur narrowed his eyes. "I'm your guardian, and you are still considered a child under the law. I can take whatever I bloody well please. Perhaps, if I could trust you, I wouldn't have to bother rifling through your things. Smoking is a disgusting habit, and if I ever catch you with a cigarette in your mouth, you will be _very _sorry."

"That's not fair! How do you even know that I was smoking them?"

"Don't play stupid with me, Alfred. I'm not as daft as you think I may be," Arthur assured, starting the car. "I've no idea where you managed to get your hands on such things, considering that you're a minor. Should I be concerned about a fake ID as well?"

Alfred growled again, leering out the window and refusing to respond to the question. "It's not a big deal, tons of people smoke."

"I don't give a damn what other people do to their lungs, but I won't have you doing the same."

"God, just stop. I don't want to hear the 'above the influence' lecture again."

"That being said," Arthur continued, disregarding Alfred's comments. "I want to move on to my next topic of discussion, and that concerns your little basketball team. Until you get your grades up and recover from this severe bout of senioritis, there will be no more sports teams."

Alfred seemed to explode at that, making staying focused on the road very difficult for Arthur. "What do you mean? I'm supposed to quit the basketball team? We're prepping for the tournament!"

"Well, then, it's a shame you won't be able to be a part of it. Perhaps this will teach you to take your schoolwork more seriously. If you're not home by four o'clock today, I will personally call the school and request that you be suspended from the team myself," Arthur pronounced with a tone that left no room for further discussion.

"You can't do this to me!"

Arthur took in a deep breath to stay patient. "I don't know what else to do, lad. You've left me with no choice. I've tried to be lenient with you and let you figure out things on your own, but that obviously hasn't worked. I have to intervene in some way."

Alfred shook his head in disbelief as the car came to a stop next to the high school, removing his seatbelt and jolting out of the car at his first opportunity to get away from Arthur.

"Someday you'll understand, Alfred," Arthur called after him.

The slamming of the car door was the only reply he received.

* * *

Matthew stepped off the train with fifteen minutes to spare. Fortunately, there hadn't been any delays, and he walked the final few blocks to school, admiring the morning atmosphere of the city, warm breath pressed up against his face thanks to the scarf that Arthur had given him.

Winter really was a nuisance for his asthma, but Matthew personally enjoyed the cold at times. There was something beautiful and serene about seeing snow dusting the busy streets of Manhattan. Everyone was bundled up and snug, looking like fluffy ants in the distance as the trees lining City Hall Park glistened with white.

Stepping into the large building that was his high school, he felt his face split into a grin behind his scarf as he caught sight of Natalia, a fellow editor of the school newspaper. He greeted her as they made their way to their first class of the day, AP Comparative Politics.

In all honesty, Matthew was absolutely in love with senior year. Sure, he had three AP classes to deal with, but they were a pleasure to study for considering how amazing the material was. For the first time in a long time, he was finally in his element, delving deep into the humanities and relieved to be surrounded by people who shared his passion for studying history, politics, and the human psyche. Gone were the days of being stuck in classes that didn't interest him and were mandatory to take.

Electives were glorious.

Being part of the school newspaper also had its perks. Originally, it had forced him to come out of his shell, seeing as he was required to interview students and teachers alike before he could even attempt to write up an article.

"Did you start working on Braginski's project?"

Ah, Mr. Ivan Braginski. The unbelievably tall and foreboding Russian man was his AP Psychology teacher, and though he was quite unnerving, the class was unlike anything Matthew had ever experienced before, giving him a full appreciation for the mysteries and wonders of the brain.

"You mean the dream project? Yeah, but I can't interpret what getting on the wrong train means…"

The class had recently been assigned the task of keeping a dream journal, and as their project, they had to interpret at least two dreams with poignant symbolism, explaining the significant message that their subconscious mind was demonstrating through the imagery. It was harder than it seemed, and Matthew constantly had the reoccurring dream of walking into the subway station and getting on the wrong train, only to discover that he would never be able to get off and change directions.

"Trains stand for the journey of life," Natalia told him matter-of-factly, entering their politics class. "Getting on the wrong train shows that you're afraid of making the wrong life choices or you're doubting the choices that you've already made."

"Well, thanks for psychoanalyzing me," Matthew joked, feeling a bit disappointed at the meaning behind his dreams. Was he really so afraid of heading in the wrong direction?

"Anytime," Natalia replied with mock enthusiasm, eyes toying with him as she took her seat at the other side of the classroom. "I'll see you later for the newspaper meeting right?"

Matthew nodded, slipping his backpack off of his shoulder as he reached his desk. "Yup, we still have to edit those editorials from the sophomores before we can try to get out a new issue."

"We might be here all night."

Matthew laughed softly, taking out his binder and finding a fresh sheet of paper for note-taking. The bell rang a moment later, and the rest of class consisted of studying the German system of government and a short pop quiz on the difference between federalism and unicameral nation-states.

After that, it was time for English.

He walked into the hushed chatter of the classroom, pulling out his copy of "The Crucible" as the teacher took a quick headcount before beginning the lesson on the hysteria surrounding the Salem Witch Trials.

"Before we begin reading 'The Crucible'," the teacher began, "it's important that we understand the emotion and injustice against the women who were accused of being witches. Therefore, I've prepared a sequence of poems recounting the story of 'Half-Hanged Mary', who was one of the accused. You will be expected to recite and act out these poems in groups."

A unanimous chorus of groans filled the classroom as everyone was sorted into pairs of two. One student would be the narrator while the other would be acting out the scene.

However, before Matthew was even given a partner, the class was interrupted by the opening of the classroom door as a figure sauntered inside.

"Ah, Mr. Jones," his teacher announced, raising an eyebrow at Alfred's entrance. "Fashionably late as usual, I see."

It seemed like Arthur had managed to get Alfred to go to school after all—not a very easy feat.

Matthew shifted his eyes away from his brother, staring down at his desk as he watched Alfred take his assigned seat behind him. He tried to ignore his twin, but that was rather difficult to do when Alfred began prodding his shoulder persistently.

Fed up, Matthew finally twisted his neck around and glared at his brother. "What?"

Alfred readjusted his glasses as he met the other teen's eyes. "Do you have an extra sheet of loose-leaf paper?"

Biting his lip in exasperation, Matthew took out a piece of paper from his binder, slapping it onto Alfred's desk before turning around again.

"Hey, Mattie?"

"What now?"

Alfred hesitated, looking like he was about to say something very important before settling on, "Can I borrow a pen?"

Grumbling unintelligibly under his breath, Matthew threw a pen in Alfred's direction, sinking down into his seat when the deed was done so that he could get back to his work.

That is, until the teacher declared, "Alfred, you will join Matthew in performing the poem," passing a copy of the poem to each of them.

Matthew smacked his palm against his forehead. Just his luck.

It wasn't that he _hated_ his brother. He was just merely annoyed with him. His twin had really let himself go and had been hanging around with that ridiculous posse from the basketball team for as long as he could remember. Personally, Matthew didn't really care who his brother decided to include into his circle of friends as long as he didn't get entangled in the middle of it all.

Not to mention that Alfred was always disappearing nowadays, leaving for 'school' in the morning and returning late at night after hanging out with friends, which meant that the twins didn't see each other very often anymore apart from the one class that they had been placed together in.

"Now, remember that this is all improvisation. I would like to see the depiction of multiple literary techniques as we go through these pieces," the teacher reminded, occupying an empty desk at the back of the room as she gave the students a moment to collect themselves.

When it was time for them to perform, Matthew was sure that the entire ordeal was going to be a complete disaster. He dragged himself to the front of the room with Alfred in tow, both looking at each other without exchanging a single word as the class lazily clapped for them to begin.

However, he was thoroughly taken aback when his brother handed him his copy of the poem to take, designating himself as the actor while Matthew would remain the narrator. Then, his twin untied one of his shoelaces, separating it from his sneaker and tying it around his neck because they both knew how this poem was going to end.

Clearing his throat, Matthew raised his voice, knowing that the effect of the poem would be lost if he didn't speak up. He waited for the bustling in the classroom to still and nervously opened his mouth to begin reciting as Alfred stood a few feet ahead of him.

"_Six A.M,"_ Matthew started, tone sullen. _"Sun comes up, huge and blaring, no longer a simile for God. Wrong address. I've been out there."_

Alfred focused his attention keenly on the window, the sunlight kissing his body as he lowered himself gently to his knees, seemingly drowning in the light.

"_Time is relative, let me tell you, I have lived a millennium. I would like to say my hair turned white overnight, but it didn't. Instead it was my heart: bleached out like meat in water." _

He silently brought a hand to his head, pushing the hair back and running his fingers through it with a mild curiosity, amused at the very sight before letting his hand travel down his chest, resting it over his heart and pressing down roughly, demanding to feel the rhythmic pulse.

"_Also, I'm about three inches taller. This is what happens when you drift in space listening to the gospel of the red-hot stars."_

He stood up, and then, causing Matthew to nearly stumble in shock, Alfred began humming some sort of melancholy tune that Matthew just couldn't recognize no matter how hard he tried. Ignoring the ominous action, he went on with the reading.

"_Pinpoints of infinity riddle my brain, a revelation of deafness."_

Preparing himself for the next line, it was Matthew's time to step forward. He stood right behind his brother, grabbing the shoelace that Alfred had knotted around his neck like a collar.

"_At the end of my rope, I testify to silence. Don't say I'm not grateful." _

Alfred stared down at his shoes, boring holes into the wooden floorboards as Matthew loomed behind him, his grip on the makeshift rope tightening.

"_Most will have only one death." _

Matthew yanked the shoelace upward, at which point Alfred feigned a startled gasp, head lolling back and against Matthew's clammy hand.

"_I will have two." _

Matthew then relinquished his hold on the shoelace—essentially cutting the rope with which the teen had been 'hanged'—and Alfred allowed himself to tumble to the floor, greeting apparent death.

There was a long moment of heavy stillness before the class erupted into applause and Alfred got back to his feet, brushing off his clothes before returning to his seat without a single glimmer of emotion. Their teacher stood up from her chair, clearly impressed as she thanked the twins for a job well done.

"That was worthy of an Academy Award, boys."

Matthew felt a smile rise to his lips, stunned that Alfred had salvaged their grade. He watched as his brother untied the shoelace around his neck, wondering whether or not he should thank him.

It wasn't until Alfred opened his bag to retrieve a piece of gum that Matthew noticed the hoard of pens and a folder full of blank pieces of paper that he felt his stomach drop.

His brother had come to school prepared after all, and the only reason he'd been annoying him was to initiate some conversation.

Matthew felt his hands tremble as he turned away, directing his gaze to the front of the classroom again, where the next pair was performing.

* * *

He returned home at around five o'clock, exhausted after correcting the grammar and structure of nearly two dozen articles for the student newspaper. Honestly, when were his peers going to learn the valuable skill of inserting commas into sentences to avoid run-on sentences?

He pushed the front door open after unlocking it with his keys, unsurprised to hear shouting emanating from Alfred's room.

They were at it _again_.

The pair couldn't seem to go through a single day without breaking out into another heated round of verbal sparring that left both guardian and charge fatigued and distressed. Normally, Matthew didn't make it his mission to eavesdrop, but after his interaction with Alfred earlier that day, he felt the need to find out exactly what the two were so upset about this time.

He stood against the wall in the hallway, arms folded behind his back as he listened carefully.

"A fifty-five in Economics? How do you think this is going to look to the colleges that you applied to? You have to start thinking about your life after high school, Alfred, and this is ruining any chance you have at getting into a good school! I just want what's best for you!"

Alfred swung the door to his room open briskly, and Matthew stealthily hid in the bathroom, avoiding detection as the pair relocated to the hallway.

"Don't walk away from this! Colleges have the right to not accept you if you do poorly in the second semester. Do you want all of your hard-work to go to waste? You've never let your grades slip this low," Arthur went on, grabbing Alfred's shoulder and forcing him to turn around and face the music.

"And you think making me quit the basketball team is going to make it better?" Alfred asked bitterly, wrenching himself out of Arthur's hold and storming down the stairs.

"It's a start. Maybe if you didn't spend so much time with those friends of yours and actually—W-Where do you think you're going?" Arthur stammered, glowering as Alfred rounded the corner and reached the front door.

"I need to get some air!"

"No, you will not, young man. I want you back here, this instant!"

"Leave me alone!"

"You don't even have a jacket on! Where on earth do you plan on going at this time? The sun is about to set!"

"I'll go anywhere as long as it's away from you!"

Arthur felt his next scathing words escape him, leaving him breathless and flustered. "A-Alfred, please… Don't do this again! I won't have you disappearing until midnight! Alfred!"

The sound of the door shutting was all that Matthew needed to hear to know that his brother was probably not going to return for a good number of hours, and would neglect to go to school tomorrow due to his late return.

Tentatively, Matthew padded down the stairs, offering Arthur an apologetic smile as he approached, locking the door for the man. "He'll be back; he always comes back."

Arthur shook his head, head buried in his hands as he let out a weary groan of discontent. "That boy is going to give me an ulcer."

"I'll make some tea," Matthew suggested, knowing that he couldn't let Arthur sulk until Alfred decided to return. "You should try to take a nap or something. You must be tired after work."

"Don't worry about me," Arthur reassured mildly. "Besides, I can't sleep now, and I won't sleep until he's safely back home."

Matthew frowned. "You really shouldn't worry so much. Alfred may be reckless, but he's good at protecting himself."

"I don't have much of a choice in the matter," Arthur murmured, pacing across the foyer. "I'm going to worry instinctively. That's the curse of being a caretaker," he whispered thinly, staring at the closed door grievously. "I'll make the tea, Matthew. You go ahead and relax. I'm sure you've had a productive day at school."

Matthew nodded once, reluctantly turning away and sparing a final glance at Arthur before heading back to his room to start his homework.

Nonetheless, he couldn't help but wonder what was going through Alfred's head and whether or not he was all right.


	12. Chapter 12

_It was cold. _

This primitive thought was the first thing that made itself known in Alfred's mind as he fled the warmth of the house, subjecting himself to the winter wonderland outside. The only thing shielding his upper body from the onslaught of cold air was his navy blue hoodie, which was proving to be rather useless in keeping him warm.

However, he wasn't about to backtrack, so he marched onward, heading for the only place where he knew he might be able to find some solace. He planned his route for the nearest subway station, sighing with relief upon entering the underground and leaving the cold air behind. He took the next Brooklyn-bound train, leaning back in a blessedly empty seat in one of the cars and rubbing his hands together in order to regain feeling in his fingers.

"_Stand clear of the closing doors, please," _the train intercom droned as they departed, and Alfred watched as the train accelerated, leaving behind the blur of the station as it lurched forward. Soon, he was being transported across the Manhattan Bridge, leaving behind the little island that seemed to be suffocating him as of late.

Having transferred boroughs, Alfred let the train take him all the way to Brighton Beach, where he knew there would be a party going on that night. At first, he hadn't been sure if he would go, claiming that the commute wasn't worth the trouble in such snowy weather, but if it got him away from home for a few hours and gave him something to do, then so be it.

Arriving to his stop, he begrudgingly left the warmth of the train and its accompanying station, shivering all over again as he walked the rest of the distance to his friend's house.

He hiked up the driveway, already hearing the blasting music from his spot outside before inviting himself in, shutting away the cold once more.

More people had shown up than he'd expected, and Alfred soon found himself being swallowed by his fellow basketball team, greeting each of them with a firm slap of the hand and a bone-crushing embrace.

"Al! Where've you been, man? Rumor has it that you're leaving the team! What's up with that?"

Alfred frowned, hastily realizing that he was going to have to lie. After all, what was he going to say? 'My foster father said I can't play until I bring up my grades?' Yeah, that certainly wouldn't have ruined his reputation or social status.

"Yeah, bro. It's true," he informed his teammate, easily putting up an irritated front. "Coach says I gotta take some time off and figure out how to contribute to the team better. Old man's gone a little crazy, huh?"

"Funny you say that, 'cause Coach told me that _you_ were the one who decided to leave the team."

Caught in the lie, Alfred felt himself struggle to save himself from humiliation. "Nah, dude. Why would I ever do that?"

"I don't know. Why would you? I thought we were cool."

Alfred swallowed heavily, suddenly realizing that the six foot four defender was getting too close for comfort, trapping him against the wall. It was then that he recognized the sour and acrid smell of alcohol on the other teen's breath, which raised alarm bells in Alfred's brain.

He wasn't stupid. Alcohol led to impaired judgment, which meant that even a minor disagreement could quickly escalate into something more if he didn't leave his teammate's proximity. He tried to glance around and find help from the rest of the team, but they had already scattered themselves around the house, mingling with some of the girls.

He was practically allergic to alcohol, having some sort of inherited aversion toward it after seeing what it had done to his father from a young age after his mother had passed away. Even the thought of a can of beer made him feel sick to the very core.

Thus, he tried to dodge the approaching teen, but was too slow, already pressed up against a side table whose edge was digging into the small of his back.

"You ditching us, man? And then you lie to me? I don't like liars, Al."

Alfred braced himself, letting out a string of curses as a sloppy fist soon connected with his nose, sending him reeling back in pain. He held up his hands in surrender, pushing at the taller form as he felt liquid dribble from his nostrils. "Dude, just calm down! You don't know what you're doing!"

"Don't—don't know what I'm doing?" the basketball player asked, turning slightly green. "I'm a basketball GOD, Al."

A hand smacked the glasses off of his face, and Alfred instantly divided to grab them, only to disregard his position in relation to the side table on the way down, resulting in him banging his forehead on the piece of furniture before finding his glasses once more and sliding them up the bridge of his aching nose.

He braced himself to another round of fighting, but it seemed that his fellow teammate was content with vomiting whatever he'd forced down his throat earlier that evening, giving Alfred an opportune moment to escape.

For a moment, he debated whether or not he should just relocate to another area of the house, but after deducing that his teammate probably wasn't the only one drunk at the party, decided against it, opting to head back into the cold rather than risk getting his face rearranged again.

Therefore, he trudged back to the train station, deciding that he would figure things out along the journey back. He didn't want to leave so early into the night, but he was freezing and his face was aching, so he'd been left with little to no say in the matter. Fumbling around his pockets for his MetroCard, he swiped it at the turnstile and hopped back on the train.

Okay, so maybe going to the party hadn't been such a good idea. He should've foreseen the flaws in his plan.

Fruitlessly, he pawed at his nosebleed, using the sleeve of his hoodie to stave the flow as he found himself on the Manhattan Bridge yet again, feeling even more miserable than he'd been before the entire escapade.

It wasn't until he reached Fulton that his mind seemed to have already decided where it wanted to go. He got off the train yet again and counted out the few dollar bills that remained stockpiled in his pocket, deciding that maybe a cup of coffee at Starbucks was in order. It would be warm, quiet, and he'd be able to get some tissues to clean up the mess that had been made out of his nose. He began his trek up the block, pausing for a moment to take note of the fact that Arthur's hospital was only two streets away.

He turned his head to the nearest street sign, feeling his heart thump against his frozen chest as his fingers burrowed themselves into the pockets of his jeans.

He was in the exact spot where the hospital's security guards had found him and Matthew on their way back from their break all those years ago.

Suddenly feeling nostalgic, he let his feet carry him toward the hospital, staring up at the edifice apprehensively as he passed the entrance to the emergency room. Things hadn't changed at all…

"Alfred?"

The teen spun around, nearly tripping over his own two feet as he registered the figure staring back at him, suddenly losing his ability to speak.

"It's been such a long time, _non_? You're so tall that I barely recognized you!"

"Francis?" he breathed, shuddering against the cold even more pronouncedly now that he was standing still. "What are you doing here?"

The French doctor smiled, looking at him teasingly as he stepped closer to get a better look at the teen. "Well, I _work _here. I came out for a little fresh air; I'm on the night shift, so most of the patients are sleeping."

Alfred felt his face flush after having had the obvious pointed out to him. He brought a shaky hand to his face, wiping at his sore nose again. "Y-Yeah, you work in the Emergency Room, right?"

"_Oui. _Now, what are you doing out at this hour? And what happened to your face?" the man asked, unable to keep a smidgeon of concern from seeping into his voice. "Does Arthur know you are here?"

Alfred chewed on his bottom lip and shook his head softly, having the decency to look more than a little ashamed as Francis tutted and motioned for Alfred to follow him inside without prolonging the interrogation.

Not protesting, considering that he was sure that his fingers would soon be frostbitten if he spent another minute in the cold, Alfred followed the elder into the main lobby, teeth chattering as Francis led him through the double-doors of the unit. He dragged his feet slightly over the white tiles, lowering his eyes as he passed the nurses' station and trailed after Francis like a stray cat that had been invited inside for a meal.

He let himself be steered toward an empty bed and sat down on the edge, feet hovering an inch above the ground as he watched Francis tug the privacy curtain to a close and approach him once more, contemplating how to deal with the situation.

"Stay here, and I will have a look at those injuries of yours in a moment. Then, I'm going to call Arthur so that he can take you home," Francis muttered, pulling out some blankets from the storage cabinets lined up against the wall before draping them around Alfred.

Overwhelmed by the sudden turn of events, the teen set his panicked eyes on the doctor. If he hadn't been so cold at the time, he would've had the sense to escape Francis's company while he'd had the chance. Desperate to keep Arthur from getting involved, he met the Frenchman's eyes pleadingly. "No! Please, don't call him! He hates me enough as it is."

"He doesn't hate you," Francis reassured firmly, patting Alfred's back. "No matter what you do, he could never hate you. He loves you and your brother very much."

"How would you know? You haven't spoken to either of us since we were kids!"

The doctor sighed and took a seat by the bedside, looking up at Alfred very seriously. He wore the same calculating look that Arthur often carried, causing Alfred to wonder if perhaps it was a universal skill attained by all doctors. "Do you know why I couldn't bear to visit you and your brother any longer?"

"No," Alfred admitted, nails digging into the soft fabric of the blankets as he uneasily took note of the different medical utensils present in the room. "And I don't think Arthur knows why either, which is why he was so angry with you."

"It wasn't right of me to just break off all connections with you. It was foolish of me," Francis sympathized, self-incriminating himself. "But it was difficult for me to come to terms with the truth once I had discovered it."

Alfred felt his skin take on a burning sensation as his body temperature began to regulate itself. To distract himself from the discomfort, he curiously met Francis's remorseful gaze. "What truth?"

Francis glowered and stood up, departing the room wordlessly for a few seconds before returning with a thermometer and placing it under Alfred's tongue. "That's to make sure you aren't suffering from hypothermia," he explained before even thinking about continuing with his anecdote. "Arthur will have my head if I don't record your vitals."

"Are you still going to call him?"

Francis nodded in reaffirmation, eyes pitying the teen before him. "I'm afraid I have to. You are being treated in the hospital now, so my job requires me to let your parent or guardian know that you are here since you are not eighteen yet."

"Can't you bend the rules a little?" Alfred begged once more, thermometer flopping around his mouth with each spoken word.

"No, I won't," Francis countered simply, placing a strong hand on Alfred's shoulder before peering into those bright blue eyes, a smile already twisting onto his face. "The resemblance is uncanny," he whispered, eyes crinkling with warm satisfaction as he did so. "I knew your mother, Alfred. At least, I didn't realize that I did at first. You see, I spent many of my early college years with many young women who—"

"Don't tell me you dated my mom!" Alfred cried out in horror, just barely managing to balance the thermometer between his lips. "That's gross!"

Francis broke out into a fit of cheerful laughter, his diaphragm aching as he rolled his eyes at Alfred's dramatic reaction. "No, _mon cher_, I never dated your mother. However, she majored in art and I shared a few prerequisite classes with her. She was uncommonly sweet and caring. It just came as a bit of a shock when I found out all of this information. I know it was probably delusional of me, but I couldn't help but feel guilty. I wondered if there was something I could've done... It sounds silly—telling you this now."

"No, I understand," Alfred mumbled, removing the thermometer from his mouth as it beeped. "I probably would've done the same thing. I mean, it's gotta be hard, being around the kids of a dead person that you used to know."

Francis grimaced at Alfred's word choice and took the thermometer from him, holding up the device to the light to read the result. "96.3," he reported before pressing a hand to Alfred's forehead. "Not low enough for hypothermia, but still low," he set the thermometer aside and made a movement to examine the boy's nose only for the teen to flinch away in response, making it impossible for Francis to get him to hold still.

Apparently, he hadn't grown out of his white-coat syndrome, and even though Francis wasn't a stranger, he wasn't used to anyone other than Arthur examining him. He wanted to be able to trust Francis, but it was as if his mind had already built up a mental barrier, urging him to reflexively pull away from the prodding hands.

"I'll get Arthur on the phone now," Francis decided, shooting down any retorts from Alfred as he took out his cellphone, selecting his old rival's number out of his list of contacts. There was no use in prolonging the inevitable.

A few tense moments of silence followed as Francis waited for the other man to pick up before speaking. Upon hearing the other line click with life, he quickly spoke before Arthur could think to hang up. "I think I have something that belongs to you."

"What, pray tell, is that supposed to mean?"

"I have a pediatric patient here at the hospital, aged seventeen with blue eyes, glasses, a blonde cowlick, and an incessant need to break away from his only parental figure. Does any of that ring a bell?"

"Alfred?" Arthur ground out, voice heavy with concern. "What is he doing at the hospital? Christ, is he all right?"

"He's thawing out as we speak, but other than that, I think he'll be just fine," Francis taunted, unable to help himself as he watched Alfred glare at him from his peripheral vision. "I can keep him overnight for a small fee if you decide that you do not wish to see him just yet."

Ignoring the dripping sarcasm, Arthur spoke hurriedly into the phone, sounding very exhausted. "I'll be there in a few minutes. Make sure he doesn't get into any other trouble."

"Yes, do not worry," Francis consoled even though he knew his words were falling on deaf ears. "He is safe and in perfectly capable hands."

Arthur only harrumphed and hung up in reply.

Francis then returned his phone to his pocket, regarding Alfred coolly and with a clumsy smile. "He hates you, you say? Then why did he sound as if he was about to go into cardiac arrest on the phone?"

Despite himself and the anger that he had been recently feeling toward his guardian, Alfred couldn't push down the smile that was tugging at his lips. It was so typical that the man would react in such a way at the news, and he couldn't help but feel a little comforted by the thought that Arthur still worried about him, regardless of whether or not they always saw eye-to-eye.

Glancing at the clock on the wall, Alfred noted that it was just a little after eleven o'clock, meaning that his caretaker had probably stayed up to wait for him to return again, refusing to give into the temptation of sleep.

"You know, Alfred, he tries more than you give him credit for," Francis murmured, breaking his train of thought. "I know he can seem a little stuffy and strict at times, but it's only because he is looking out for your best interest."

Alfred shook his head and let his eyes flutter shut, feeling the brutal impact of sadness colliding with his chest. "No, that's not true. He can't even decide if he wants me around… He always second guessed himself… A-And he'll never be a real parent, so he might as well give up the act while he's ahead."

"Oh, I know you don't mean that," Francis returned coolly, looking straight through the boy's thoughts. "Tell me, why are you_ really_ so upset with him? If you're worried that I'll tell Arthur about our little conversation, then don't be. This is something that the two of you need to settle together, but I think you might feel a little better if you let it off your chest."

At the invitation, Alfred stood up from the bed, abandoning the blankets as he propped himself up against the wall. "He's controlling, he never listens to me, he won't give me any freedom, and he acts like we're some sort of family when we're not!"

"But you _are _family."

"No," Alfred griped, still shivering slightly. "I'm from a bloodline of screwed up Jones's; we come from completely different worlds."

Francis sighed softly, picking up a discarded blanket and wrapping it around Alfred's shoulders again. "I know it's confusing, being a teenager. I remember how I used to worry my parents to no end as well. It's difficult to deal with all of the burdens that are dropped onto our backs, Alfred, but that doesn't mean we push everyone away because we are afraid of making lasting relationships. I think the real problem here is that you aren't so much frustrated with Arthur as you are with yourself."

"Myself? You don't—"

Francis cut the teen off, holding a hand up to stop his protesting. "I guarantee you that poor Arthur is clueless as to why you are suddenly so angry with him. He's struggling to understand that you are maturing, and that what you really need and want is a parent who can help guide you in the right direction without making you feel as though you are being belittled. Meanwhile, you are struggling to come to terms with the fact that your old perception of family has been torn. You see, family isn't just a mother and a father with multiple children, Alfred, and a part of you already knows that but will not admit it."

"The only true family I have is Mattie, and that's it," Alfred stated resolutely, turning away from Francis.

The Frenchman chuckled, pulling Alfred's shoulder back to get him to face him once more. "Stubborn like your mother…" He took hold of Alfred's chin, lifting it upward to meet the teen's defiant eyes. "You'll see, in time, what a wonderful and _real _family you have, _mon lapin_. Speaking of family…"

The man abruptly left the conversation hanging, pulling open the privacy curtain and stepping beyond the room as Alfred begrudgingly sat on the bed once more.

Guilt filling his heavy heart, the rebellious teen watched as Arthur entered the unit, hair a mess and emerald eyes highlighted with dark circles. He exchanged a few rushed words with Francis first, and then finally locked eyes with Alfred, sweeping over to him and letting out a painfully relieved sigh as he neared the bedside.

Unsure of whether or not to speak, Alfred was caught off guard by Arthur's response, stiffening as his guardian hugged him securely and placed a hand on the back of his head. He pressed the teen's cold forehead to rest against his chest, heart rate dropping as his initial panic diminished.

"You have to stop scaring the living daylights out of me," he murmured into the wheat-colored hair before pulling back to scrutinize the teen. With a stern glare, he towered over the boy on the bed, focusing his gaze on the bruised nose that was caked with dry blood as well as the swelling gash on Alfred's forehead. "And how did this happen?" he inquired softly, running a finger over the splotchy bruise.

Alfred slumped forward, awfully tired as he readjusted the blankets that he was nestled in. "It's a long story… I kind of deserved it for being stupid."

Arthur pursed his lips, observing the teen for another moment before turning to Francis. "Did you take his temperature? He could have hypothermia," the man queried, lifting Alfred's hand and taking note of his bluish hued fingernails.

"96.3," Francis replied, trading a thoughtful look with Alfred. "But that was almost twenty minutes ago."

"He's not warming up fast enough. Get me a hot beverage and some ice from the lounge room," Arthur assigned, already pulling on a pair of gloves from the dispenser on top of one of the cabinets and examining the battered nose as Francis nodded and disappeared down the corridor. This time, Alfred didn't cower away in inexplicable fear and allowed the hands to poke at his face. "Are you having difficulty breathing through your nose?" the man asked him, professionalism taking over.

"A little," Alfred grumbled in admittance as Arthur tilted his head back, shining that all too familiar penlight at the injured area for a few moments.

"You don't have a deviated septum, but you have a lovely nasal septal hematoma."

Alfred gave the man a flummoxed look, not even bothering to make an attempt at comprehending the information as he waited for an elaboration. Whatever was wrong with him, it didn't sound very pleasant.

"You're going to survive," Arthur explained reassuringly, the ghost of amusement flickering in his eyes before fading away. He purposely avoided any further description of the treatment process, not wanting to alarm the boy. "And I don't see any signs of a concussion from that cut on your forehead—you just skinned the surface. We're going home as soon as we finish cleaning up the damage done to your nose."

Alfred nodded, fiddling with his hands in his lap before meeting Arthur's eyes again. "I'm sorry for storming out like that… I was just…"

"Frustrated," Arthur finished for him with an empathetic nod. "I know. We'll discuss it at home. I was partially at fault as well; I shouldn't have attacked you the way that I did. Instead of offering solutions, I was just listing your mistakes, and I apologize for that."

Alfred opened his mouth to speak, but was unable to utter any words before letting his mouth drop to a close once more. He certainly hadn't expected _Arthur_ to be the one apologizing.

Shortly after, Francis returned with Arthur's requested items. He passed Alfred the steaming cup of tea that he had procured and offered the icepack to his fellow doctor, watching as the man held it against the teen's swelling nose.

"Thank you," Arthur murmured to the other man, locking eyes with him seriously for a moment. He wanted to be upset with the other doctor, but knew that there would be a better time and place to discuss hard-feelings in the future. "Could you please get me a wide bore needle, some gauze for nasal packing, and a local anesthetic? A nasal spray should do just fine."

Francis exchanged an intrigued look with him. "You're going to drain a—"

"Yes," Arthur interjected before the man could go any further and terrify his less than compliant patient. "It's small, but still needs to be tended to."

"What are you guys talking about? Drain what?" Alfred asked, feeling uneasy as he set the cup of tea aside.

Arthur squeezed the teen's shoulder soothingly. "Just lie down and relax. We'll be leaving soon."

"But why did you ask Francis to get you a needle? What's going on?"

Arthur frowned, waving a hand in dismissal before Francis nodded and disappeared again, leaving the two alone in the quiet hospital room. "You can trust me, Alfred. I hope you realize that."

The teen felt his anxiety grow, his phobia of hospitals and doctors increasing in strength with each passing second. By the time Francis returned with a number of supplies, he felt himself growing faint with anticipation, eyes wide as he tried to keep from hyperventilating. Truth be told, he did trust Arthur. Had anyone but Arthur approached him with such news regarding his health, he would've already escaped the wretched hospital.

"It's okay, lad," Arthur said calmingly, readjusting the angle of the bed as he sat on a rolling stool beside the teen. "Just focus on me the entire time, all right? Think about what you're going to do when you get home. Matthew's awaiting our return."

His guardian took the proffered items from Francis, assuring him that everything was under control and that he could go back to his patients before addressing Alfred again. "Close your eyes for me."

"N-No, what are you going to do to me?" Alfred stuttered, breath catching in his throat as he regretted ever leaving the house in the first place.

"An untreated hematoma can be dangerous if not treated right away. As such, I'm going to drain it, and then the pain should subside in the next two days or so."

"So, what? You think that I'll just casually let you stick a needle up my nose?"

Arthur scowled, but patted Alfred's leg reassuringly, nonetheless. "It's not as bad as it sounds, honestly. I'll be done within ten to fifteen minutes, and then we can both go home and get some sleep."

"Maybe I don't want to be treated!"

The doctor rolled his eyes, an annoyed sigh escaping his lips. "Unfortunately, you don't get to decide that; your guardian does."

Alfred narrowed his eyes challengingly. "Well, that's not surprising, considering that you never let me make my own decisions anyway!"

"Listen to me," Arthur growled, patience thinning, "I know what's best for you. You might like to think that you're an adult, but you're far from it. Maybe next time, you'll think twice before wandering around late at night and picking fights."

"I wasn't picking a fight! The guy was drunk and hit me first!"

Arthur grew absolutely livid as he stared down at the teenager, eyes fiery and irritated. "If I find out that you were drinking—"

"I wasn't! There you go again, accusing me without knowing the whole story!"

"If you want to experiment, Alfred, then I understand. I was in your place once too, but I'd much rather have you trying alcohol under my supervision than with some of your silly friends who would allow you to collapse from alcohol poisoning or would spike your beverage," Arthur reasoned.

Alfred raised an eyebrow at his guardian disbelievingly. "You would let me have a drink?"

"As much as I'd like to, I can't restrict you from everything," Arthur huffed, spraying some type of cold substance into Alfred's nostril without preamble.

The teen gagged, sniffling as he felt the inside of his nose grow tingly, signifying that it was being numbed. "You could've warned me!"

"Whoops," Arthur murmured with a scornful look. "You could've avoided all of this if you hadn't decided to throw a temper tantrum. The next time you get yourself into such a mess, I'll let Francis treat you, and I assure you that he isn't as considerate as I am."

Alfred refused to respond, staring up at the tiled ceiling as he was forced to breathe through his mouth, chest rising and falling at an agitated rhythm. Then, Arthur was poking at his nostril again, and the boy was sorely tempted to snap his head away.

"Can you feel that?" Arthur asked, pressing against the soft tissue.

Alfred shook his head, panic taking over again as he watched the man remove a syringe from its packaging. "I'll never leave the house without your permission again as long as you swear not to stick that thing up my nose."

"Oh, not to worry," Arthur said lazily with a smirk. "You won't be leaving the house anytime soon regardless, seeing as you're grounded until further notice."

Alfred wanted to reply with a biting remark, but the syringe was growing dangerously closer, and he simply fisted the sheets of the bed, heart nearly trilling against his ribs. "A-Arthur," he mouthed, throat growing dry as he was unable to hold back a whimper of fear. "Don't stab it through my nose!"

"Hush, stay very still," Arthur muttered, extremely concentrated as he began draining the swollen area.

Alfred let out another horrified cry, biting his tongue and shutting his eyes as he tried to keep from imagining what the procedure probably looked like. Was this some sort of sick karma?

After another minute or so of barely contained hysteria, Arthur finally removed the syringe, shielding Alfred's meddlesome eyes from the sight with one hand before rummaging around for the gauze covered with antibiotics that Francis had brought in. "I'm almost done; I just have to stanch the bleeding."

"Bleeding?" Alfred exclaimed, shaking violently as Arthur uncovered his eyes and pushed the wad of gauze up his nose.

The man ignored the outburst, merely looking over his work in satisfaction before disposing of the syringe, his gloves, and the extra gauze. "You can sit up now, but know that if I see you picking at the area, I'll tape your nostril shut like we commonly do for restless children."

And with that, the man retrieved his coat that he had left by the nurses' station, offering it to Alfred and guiding him out into the hallway, where he seemed to survey their surroundings. "Bonnefoy!" he called, waiting impatiently for the other doctor to approach.

The Frenchman clicked his tongue, stepping out from one of the patient's rooms. "What is it now? Do you need me to discharge our insubordinate friend?"

"If you'd please," Arthur ordered with a sharp nod. "We'd like to be on our way."

Francis quickly produced a folder of paperwork, pulling out a few sheets and handing over a pen to Arthur. "Sign those documents and I'll do the rest."

True to his word, the pair were soon free to go, and after a brief goodbye with Francis, Arthur escorted Alfred to the car, blasting on the heat as soon as they were both seated.

Alfred laid his head against the window with a tiny groan, pain shooting up the side of his face as fatigue caught up with him, making him extremely drowsy.

"I'll give you some pain-relievers when we get home, since the anesthetic is wearing off," Arthur informed, unable to suppress a little smile as he watched Alfred drift to sleep, one hand upright as he supported his jaw. It was hard to believe that Alfred was troublesome at all as his features grew delicate and peaceful, making him look a few years younger.

Reaching a stoplight, Arthur gave into the temptation to brush the wisps of hair off of Alfred's forehead as the teen's face was set alight from the glowing streetlamps.

"I'll always be there should you need me, whether you like it or not," Arthur reminded the sleeping figure, feeling his heart clench in pain as he watched Alfred snuggle between the door and the car seat, mumbling something incomprehensible.

"It's going to be okay," he hummed, petting his charge's arm. "You'll see; you're a clever boy, you'll sort things out."

Alfred snored quietly in response, mouth half-open as he began to dream.


End file.
